The Lavender Road
by LilianxJane
Summary: It's a strange thing to say out loud: Dirt is used to bury memories. Dante was there for humans . . . Even ones who didn't ask for his help. Now he's gone, and I am left here with the pieces of a dubious legacy. Perfect. Vergil, Dante
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

**Special thanks to my beta reader Angel wolf for helping me re-work this**

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 **Enjoy**

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - Prologue: Of Wolf & Man**

* * *

It felt like he was sick; sick with that long agony, and when the master unbound him and he was permitted to leave for mission's sake, he felt that his senses were leaving.

Nothing but the sound of the order going through his mind, nonstop.

"Kill Dante. Kill that bastard. Kill him, no matter what it takes. Kill . . . Kill . . . _Kill him!_ " Over and over and under his skin; like pestilence from an insect.

However, the unexpected happened. The amulet . . .

It had awakened everything within him. The sight of his brother, the feeling of sorrow and hatred overflowed his senses. Everything rushed all at him at once.  
So many shades and emotions across the spectrum turned to physical feelings, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening.  
He was starting to burn, but wouldn't lose his will to stay. Unable to decide on which emotion to express, he chose to scream inside that cathedral.

"Help me . . . Help me! Someone, something, put an end to me!" But it came out as a growl, the festering temper of a caged animal.

He belonged to Mundus now. His freedom to speak stripped, it was almost impossible to do something by free will.

Something was wrong here, where had his strength to stand gone? Before him stood his most hated enemy.

"You're an honorable man, I give ya that much." Dante commented casually.

The man in red paced a bit, back and forth.

"You woulda been the perfect kinda guy to choose your own path, fight for what's right," He paused then motioned with his hand, "-The whole good book thing et cetera, et cetera."

Ah, that old sarcastic attitude.

Sad to say, he actually missed that part of his brother's personality.  
At least that was a part of him that couldn't ever be squashed, Dante's sense of humor.

He actually almost felt like laughing, but knew it would only wrench his ears, like a wolf braying to it's hunter.

Something was at work inside his soul that he did not understand.

It was like that rebellious voice itself gave Nelo Angelo strength to fight back. A deep scream ripped through him. With all of his senses, he protested against Mundus's binding spell.  
After but a moment of struggle, the helmet cracked, revealing a shining light. It was so bright. The helmet shattered in a burst of resolve, evaporating into sand, freeing his flesh at last.

It had been so long since he'd felt the wind on his face.

The dark angel stood, facing his brother for a moment of silence, his mind refusing to let go of the memory, of the bond they shared. It was undeniable, they both knew.  
Recognition was the next step. He'd forgotten that feeling. What it was like not to be alone. So many years held inside a rotting place, no way of knowing if he'd ever be free, never to return to life.  
The bonds of death were strong, stronger than he could ever hope to be.

Outside in the crooked trees, a raven cawed in the wind. Dante froze for a moment, studying his face.

The raindrops kept falling, the howling winds ripping against the outer walls of the old castle. And deep down, Nelo Angelo held hope that his brother knew him.

The eldest twin could see it all.

* * *

 **. . . Ancient thoughts rattled inside his head, begging to be remembered . . .**

* * *

A little boy in a blue shirt was running, stressed and afraid, in a field. So many miles covered, and still so far from home.  
Did anybody know where they were? Did anyone care? It was so cold out, the light slowly leaving them as they raced home.

"Vergil, wait!" Another kid called out from behind.

The boy in blue slowed slightly, looking to the side, and said, "Come on slowpoke! You better hurry or I'll leave you behind."

He laughed nervously. The other boy was dressed in black shorts and a plain red tee.

He began to cry as he pushed himself so hard to keep up.

"Vergil, _please_ _slow down_. Don't leave me behind!" The boy stubbed his foot on a rock and lost his balance, he fell on his stomach and his head slammed harshly on the ground.  
He began to bleed from his temple, staining the green a vivid vermillion. A warbled voice arose, speaking incoherently as tears welled in the corner of his eyes.

The boy in blue stopped and looked back.

"Wha- W-whoa, Dante!"

The kid in red stayed on the ground, crying and holding his head. Vergil raced over, knelt down and checked his head, but he wouldn't let go.

"H-hey, you're okay! You're alright, i just- Let me see it!" He begged, attempting to comfort the boy.

He'd always been the weaker of the two.

"No! I-it hurts . . ." His breath was damaged, stifled by manic fear.

Vergil turned his back to him and lightly lifted his small torso onto his shoulders. Dante grabbed ahold of his shirt to climb up, and stayed put.

"Come on, I'll carry you."

The older child remained stoic in the face of bad fortune, despite the other boy being less strong-willed, at least for now.  
He sobbed still, frightened of the notion that Vergil would abandon him . . . The empty field stretched as far as they could see, feeling lonely to the eyes.  
And still they were not safe, hunted by something with stark yellow eyes.

He soothed his brother's panic, "We have to hurry, mom's gonna be worried."

* * *

 **. . . Flames singed his body, and the memory burned up as he returned to eternal damnation . . .**

* * *

Nelo Angelo fell back to hell, where Mundus waited for him. Returning here was not easy – not only for what he was about to endure, but for the price he had to pay.  
His feet hung heavy, plodding along the lake of fire, but never charring, only enduring each scorching step with malice for the master. He did fine, before Dante came along.  
Vergil felt hot chains wrap themselves to his limbs, searing into his corrupted flesh, grafted on. The sensation of heat engulfed his mid-section.  
It was as though the shackles themselves were slowly eating away at him, piece by piece. Fitting he'd be tortured over a thousand-years long void.

"Useless being, begin." A deep, corroding voice enveloped him. "You know the rules, for those who fail their tasks . . . Off to the new day's mist, destroyer."

The pain splintered through his bones, tearing him apart at the seems. Mentally, he prepared himself for death.

It was all over.

The sweltering sensation rose and rose, as he felt a change, to the point he almost swore Mundus flayed him alive.

A liquid of some kind ascended from the void and covered his legs, rolling out over him.

Time had flown after his brother overcame him inside that dreaded cathedral. The memory itself remained, burning a hole in his psyche. Like twisted vines, he felt consumed by this mansion.  
So, he waited for the day it would be corrected. Perhaps he had a chance to see his brother alive again, though he knew it a foolish endeavor to wish for such things.  
All around his entire being, the winds of hell seared shut what became blinded eyes. He felt mutilated, made to be seen but not heard, and his reality barred from living, living blindly.  
Sight was the greatest gift to receive, but he saw differently than most. Like glass shattering through his body, now more than ever his dictator overwhelmed his every nerve.

It built his fear of what was outside, where life would him afterwards, if it would even care to do so.

The darkness broke, and that cocoon lifted.

He was horrified when he recognized him. Deep inside, Vergil felt to scream, 'Why are you here!? Why didn't you run, you fool!'

But, at that moment he was thankful. Dante might give him what he wants the most; death, release from this 'life.'  
Free, free of this humiliation, of this putrid existence as a decomposing slave inside the black pits of the worst hell. From being nothing more than a puppet on steel strings.  
The master of him, his undying dark prince Mundus, would not let him see clearly, 'cleansing' him of shelter or affection not that it was beyond attainment through success.  
In many ways, Mundus was the abusive father he'd never wanted, rewarding on achievement alone.

" ** _Relaaaax_ child, I will run through you, and I will help you die.** " Mundus leered at him, " **I will make all that you know disappear before your eyes. Crawl to the living ends, my son.** "

Son . . . No.

The only family he had was that man in red, the man of unshakable light that came forth to fight fire with fire.

The two of them were brothers, through anything, they couldn't have that taken.  
Their flesh and blood is alike, inherently sharing something inextricable.  
A truth he could not speak to Dante that night of their final showdown, atop the dark tower.

Of course, he was a different person then.

He couldn't know that day would lead to this.

That was the moment he realized Dante was stronger than him, superior in his own right. He would be fine, his place was right there in the human world.  
But he, the eldest son of Sparda, needed to fly with the devils in their realm, he needed to gain the strength he always desired, far from fragile mortals. It was better this way.  
They couldn't walk the same worlds, for he no longer understood the wake of humanity.

Here, in this place, this twisted paradise, he could make a name for himself among the demons; _his_ demons, both physical and mental.

And nothing else mattered, every cost sufficient for his rickety ends. At least it was a choice by his own hand.  
Then, maybe the two of them could meet again, and let this little rivalry continue. Who _is_ the strongest child of Sparda?

He'd always wondered it aloud in his mind, and they'd put it to the test on many an occasion.

"Leave me and go, if you don't want to be trapped in the demon world. I'm staying. This place, was our _father's home_. Just go . . ."

 _That's_ what was hidden within these words, the choice to leave.  
 _Knowing_ that he was more devil than man, that he was unfit to exist in their world.  
And, deep down, he hoped Dante realized that and moved on.

Of course, Dante _had_ moved on. Long ago, probably. Such as his nature was, he could 'go with the flow.'

An art that a man such as he, Nelo Angelo, could not understand.

Seconds turned into minutes, and those minutes to hours, and so on and so forth until he no longer thought about how long Mundus had punished him.  
But he caught himself counting the appearance of his missing sibling to the milliseconds. Why?

"Trish," Vergil heard Mundus's voice, far away but still so loud, "Vergil has been defeated, you know what you must do."

He felt the grand torturer impale a flaming blade unto his chest. It stuck through his blackened heart, screaming for him to burst like a balloon.  
The torture in his chest went on forever, driving this bitter man to no longer care for what pain means. It drained away all of his energy, like a leech in blood.  
He could feel his core die agonizingly slow, when, out of nowhere, he felt himself teleported out of this bound misery, and his armor shattered.

Air . . .

Air . . .

He was falling.

Falling, and falling . . .

Nothing but the harsh sound of wind flapped past his ears. He couldn't see anything and, altogether, felt nothing. It was an utterly perfect darkness; a never ending abyss.  
He thought he was dead. That had to be it, since he failed. A final release before ending so torturously. Eventually, he'll hit the ground. He must. Wherever he had gone to next.

Perhaps he'd break every bone in his body, perhaps it would be a realm without solid fixtures.

All he knew was that he would hit _something_.

Vergil had seemingly dropped out of reality into a ravenous vacuum. It was evil, every waking second felt choking.  
He'd never felt so claustrophobic in his life. All at once, it was emptiness _and_ nothingness. Perhaps the two were not mutually exclusive.

But then, he heard it, "My son, you will be fine."

The young halfling felt warm hands grace his back, ceasing his fall, pulling him close. It was an embrace of love, pure and clean.

"Mother . . . Please." The young man muttered, teary eyes wired shut.

There was no air in his lungs. Yet he coughed and gagged on his lifeblood.  
His mind floundered in the shadow, before flashes of torment took control.

He slammed harshly upon cold ground suddenly, lost somewhere, every part of his body screaming for gory murder.  
A scar flamed from the middle of his chest to his shoulder-blade, raging down his spine. He shivered on the stone, twisting and writhing on the floor.  
Holding in a blackened roar, he thought perhaps this is another punishment for him, a cruel affliction to trick his reasoning.

The abyss closed before him, leaving him in his new destination glittering silver and white.

The young man opened his eyes.

His white hair brushed over his ear, and he spotted a black coat resting beneath him on the brimstone floor. He grumbled to himself and rubbed the crust out of his eyes.  
The pain vanished, leaving him sore. He leaned forward to keep himself awake. Vergil moaned as he rolled his shoulders slowly, every inch cracking, releasing old pressures.  
Constant, sharp stinging within his bones and muscles helped wake him sooner. He pulled up and made room to draw his coat out from under him.  
Aching chronically, he slid his arms through and tugged at the collar to adjust it's fit. Familiar, for the most part. His old gloves were missing though.

Once his vision cleared he noticed the grey ceiling and there were six pillars of anguished salt. Three, for both sides of the hall.

On the other end, there was a large statue, towering high, similar to the pillars.

The being, carved in stone, was of his demon overlord, the terrible black angel.

Mundus.

Vergil leaned forward and lightly scoffed, spitting at the ground in front of it. 'So, I was summoned here.' His recovering mind pondered.

Although, it astounded him that he could be alive at all, Mundus doesn't take failure lightly.

No devil should have survived. Griffon was killed, awful and squalid, when the demonic king sought to prove his authority.  
Vergil laid there for a long time, mentally checking off that he still had all his fingers and toes . . . He wondered if this was his original form.

It was possible he was somehow reconstituted into a form similar to his old one.

He had been released from that armor by someone.

Vergil looked up and noticed that the upper half of the statue had just cracked. Fragments were sprawled out in the hall. He widened his eyes in confusion.

* * *

 ** _A crimson figure crashed into the ground, a sonic boom raging across the entire realm_**

* * *

Vergil cut his thoughts short when he heard the sound of someone hitting the ground and bouncing. Turning his head, he saw they attempted to stand, but fell, then grunted.  
They were familiar to him. Climbing to an upright sitting position, he saw the man laying there, having a seizure. Face down, a series of sickening wheezes wrenched through the man.

There was an oversized maroon sword next to his body.

"Dante . . . ?" He mumbled, still groggy.

Then it hit him.

"D-Dante!" He screamed as he realized who it was.

He leaned on his side, placing one knee below him for support, then sprinted up to his feet.  
Bolting over to his ailing brother, Vergil's vision was gripped by fear unlike any other. Hel knelt down and held Dante . . . cradling him.

Within seconds, though it pained him to do so, the red slayer looked up at him, crunching his broken neck.

They locked eyes for a moment.

There were no tears in Dante's eyes. His lips moved in an attempt to say something but no sound escaped them.  
His eyes rolled back and his grip loosened. His skin grew cold, his body went limp . . . And he moved no more. Vergil bowed and lowered his head to Dante's.  
He pressed his forehead to his brother's, staying this way for a small moment. He waited, and yet . . . Nothing. There was no life. Not a breath nor heartbeat.

Just a dead corpse.

Respect filled him for his fallen enemy, a lost brother and friend. Vergil placed one arm under his brother's knees and held his other beneath the shoulders.

Lifting up, he tore a few barely healed tendons, just to carry him.

Limping through the double door, the man found himself in a bizarre room, one that looked like the inside of a monster's chest.  
There was a ginormous heart in the center, beating profusely. Blood spat all over the ground. It was wounded.

By Dante? Most likely. He was on some sort of ledge that was about fifty feet from the ground.

Vergil knelt down and focused on several platforms away from him. A blue light appeared over his shoulder, and it formed into a blade, one that looked much like their father's blade.  
Hovering there, it suddenly rocketed forward, and it struck the front of his destination. A blue glow replaced him as the man shot up to the platform.  
Arriving shakily, he reaffirmed his grip as he repeated this process four more times. The fifth one had more distance compared to the previous jumps.

He'd need a bit of help for this one. So, Vergil placed his brother over his shoulder, sprinted forward in spite of his own ailments, and then jumped as far as he could.

Sending a blue sword out as they reached the summit of the launch, he managed to nail it to the intended ledge.  
Upon connecting, the blade shattered, and both men once more appeared to teleport directly to the fifth platform from their midair slump.

Creatures screeched from below, arising from dust, eager to finish off the half-breed.

They were desperate to feed.

Vergil hiked over to the next platform, but as he did so, he lost his balance. And like that, his progress was undone, and he fell. A monster leapt for him.

His eyes glowed red, and he summoned another, stronger blade of azure light, flinging it at the beast.

It snarled as the weapon implanted itself through its mouth, carrying the beast off it's feet and pinning it to the wall. It hung there, stuck in place, struggling.

No time to finish. Vergil continued on his way, launching up to the second, grey colored door.

The next room had veins all throughout it, and in the corner, more demons.  
Once he walked forward, he felt a tremor beneath him . . . A warning.

This island wasn't going to last much longer.

He kicked his heels and darted ahead, hoping he would be somewhere close to the exit.

Another room. Perfect.

It was much wider than it's uncomfortably closed-in predecessor, but it had a few small circles, a bit far from each other, woven into the ground. They seemed to reflect the colors of the Rainbow.

More entities emerged to stop him, many of them apish and warped beyond human comprehension.

"Step aside!" He shouted angrily, but they would not do so. An indigo energy erupted out of him, forcing them all backwards, lifeless, in a death-filled rupture.

He stopped for a moment, falling to his knees, his brother's body almost becoming too much. Spitting up blood to the ground, he quickly let it fall away from his mouth, hawking out the excess.  
Vergil took a moment for his breath, although the floor started to shake violently. He felt something from above fall on top of him. A liquid of some kind, staining his hair and slopping all over Dante.  
He scurried along, hobbling ahead through an opening, and it led him to another raised stage.

The way back to the human world.

Vergil pulled Dante down to how he held him before and he balanced himself upon the end of their small stand.

After a moment, the platform started to rumble and jerk up toward a portal in the ceiling. He felt a heaviness overtake him.  
A blinding light pierced his eyes. Flinching, he closed them tightly, the man placing his arm over his forehead. Once the light cleared, he collapsed and nearly dropped Dante.

He panted heavily, though he could sense his wounds gradually cure. Vergil observed his surrounding. He wanted to make sure he knew where he was exactly.

Back in the cathedral, he could see the throne up the stairs.  
The misshapen nature of this place was more than he could bare.

Looking behind him, he saw the balcony overlooking the dark skies, now lit by a rising sun, where he stood waiting for Dante in the beginning of their final encounter as rivals.

He dashed through the dark, and in the middle, several threads dropped to the ground. The marionettes were ready to attack.  
Vergil placed Dante over his shoulder and kicked the first one approaching into a wall. It crashed flatly against the cement and he followed it with another kick to the head.  
It broke apart into stuffing and wood.

Another launched itself at him, but he threw out a boot and shot it down. It came undone, breaking to pieces as it struck the ground.  
A third one attempted a dance of slices, flinging it's macabre blades with a smile. Within a second, it careened back and splintered open.  
Two swirling, chaotic double-edged blades flickered into being, encircling around a pair of more targets. Vergil continued toward his goal.

The bright blades, of the dark slayer's design, rammed through both puppets repeatedly, dicing them into quivering cubes.

Vergil burst through the decorated wood door, but stopped outside. He was shocked to see a World War I era plane. Why was it here?  
No matter now, he rounded left and sprung off his feet, flinging up desperately as he managed to grasp the very edge of the cabin.

He struggled to hold on through the rumbling of the island.

Throwing his brother into the backseat, Vergil pulled himself up with inhuman strength. Strapping Dante in, the still-living twin seated himself into the pilot's chair.

Anxiety overtook him as the earths quaking mounted continually. Those propellor blades couldn't go fast enough, he was thankful there was any gas.  
He knew it was a long shot to even escape at this rate, but thankfully, the machine started up. The wall before him started to collapse, crumbling into dust.

All the expensive decorations were destroyed, the whole facade of this evil place coming undone within seconds.

He saw a sizable-enough hole break through the wall.

It was now or never, and so the engine roared and the aircraft jetted forward, flying out through the castle wall. Of the debris that continued falling, he weaved in and out effortlessly.

The cavernous expanse he found himself in was depressing and long. Nevertheless, he sped through the crumbling tunnel, dodging stalactite after stalactite at blazing speed.

An entire chunk of the ceiling completely collapsed, Vergil continued through for several, grueling seconds, as his eyes could see an unbroken expanse of blue ocean.  
It was the sea spray of the exit. Rocketing through the disintegrating island, he fired the turrets and broke through a boulder threatening to collide with their turbine.  
The rock shattered just as they sped through the rubble, flying forward blindingly fast.

Vergil closed his eyes. The rumbling of the cave was gone. In fact, it seemed briefly that all sounds had simply ceased.

He opened his eyes.

The sunlight shined on his soul, bringing him into the realm of humans for the first time in however long. Grey clouds playfully sailed around, gliding high above the dancing sea.  
A clean smell of salt water and moisture swept through his hair, and he felt his lungs open up wide, breathing in renewed life. Steadfast came the joyous feel of rushing breezes.

Out from a world beyond the devil's space and time, he basked under the crystal water skies, it's tranquility slowly removing his emptiness.

The island cracked apart, exploding in a massive fireball, leaving the ocean depths to claim it.

He adjusted some of the dials, flipped a few switches, and made a path to the closest shoreline, based off the map next to him, if that was any indicator.

* * *

 **Back to the Devil May Cry office . . . Reality came dreary, but a pleasant memory returned to him, marred only by the future**

* * *

"Vergil, Dante! Happy birthday boys." Eva smiled while she carried a cake into the kitchen.

The two boys brightened in unison as they gazed at the baked good longingly.

"Wow." Vergil said followed by Dante, "Cool! I want the chocolate part!"

Vergil shot Dante a troubled look.

"Wait, no, I want the chocolate!" They were quite young, around 8 years old.

The bickering became physical, a brief shoving match breaking out as they argued. It was started by the rowdier Dante, but their mother walked around to them.  
She placed the cake on the table and clapped her hands. At once, both boys separated and stood out from one another, facing her, adjusting their posture straight up.

She knelt down to their level.

"Now, now. Boys, what have I said about fighting?"

The two looked around, scorned, reluctantly accepting their parent's wisdom.  
However, with her sincere expression, both kids exchanged knowing looks.

"No hitting over stuff." Dante answered.

"-Even if it's something we can share." Vergil crossed his arms.

Eva placed her hand over the twins' shoulders, "I'll split the chocolate up so both of you can enjoy it. That's fair. Agreed?"

Both Vergil and Dante's smiles grew back, replying "Okay," - "Yes mom."

* * *

 **. . .**

* * *

It was an unpleasantly cold winter's night; dark, mystifying.

The moon was sheltered by the murky clouds.

This would be the night that marked when Dante, the son of Sparda, would be laid to rest. The devil hunter's shop had a shared backyard.

It was more like a courtyard, bleeding off into the large complex that surrounded it and possessing overgrown trees that blotted out any lamps.  
All of them were orange trees, growing large, tangy little prizes to be picked by anyone who came back there, but most of the time, no one did.  
Vergil thought this was the best place to lay him down. He placed the last amount of dirt over the unmarked grave, far beneath the roots of the largest tree.

That tree was Dante's now.

It had gone on as a symbol of life, but now it would carry the sentiment of death as well.

Perhaps, now it signified the cycle of both. The possibility of something new may come quickly. Rebirth.

He walked away for a moment, then stopped. He turned back to the tree. It looked so strong and reliable.

Just like Dante used to.

Vergil opened the door, and placed the shovel back in the shed. It was a small little cupboard, and had held the shovel previously.  
There were a few other gardening tools, but they all looked good as new, often unused, no doubt. Thankfully, he'd found it in time.  
Otherwise he would have had to use his hands and though he was strong himself, he wasn't sure right now if his fingers would have held up.  
He coughed and took a few steps inside, rubbing his cold hands together.

There, upon the desk, Vergil had laid out Dante's sword Rebellion and his guns, Ebony and Ivory. Ifrit sat behind the blade.  
He heaved a long shudder as he grabbed the sword and stared at it for a moment. From there, Vergil returned outside with the fatherly brand and firmly planted it over the grave.  
Gripping the handle tightly, the man shoved it deep into the earth, taking care not to drive it through brother. Here in the dark, he felt it accompany him, the stage of denial.  
Dante had given his everything, asking nothing in return. This is where it led him. His fingers vibrated against the hilt for several seconds, till he let his grip go completely.

His hand was shaking.

He stayed there for a while, unsure of what was he feeling at the moment. Right in front of him was his brother's grave.

There was a weird sensation in his chest he couldn't quite understand.

Was he really sad for losing Dante? Did he really care about him despite their rivalry? Their dysfunctional treatment of each other?  
Or was it all Mundus's doing, weakening him, forcing him to remember a time where he was close to the other kind. The effects of what he endured needed time to heal.

It needed to be forgotten.

The choking horror and silent confusion of the moment was interrupted by the sound of the telephone inside.

Vergil walked back inside the office, where he came to stop and stand hesitantly at the desk's edge, but he answered it anyway.  
He cleared his throat and awaited the first words he would hear. Who would be calling Dante at this hour anyway?

"I'm looking for Dante?" A feminine voice with an indeterminate accent spoke, "I heard that he does for special jobs, like the paranormal."

English wasn't her first language, she spoke slightly broken in this tongue.  
He could hear that she was deliberating with someone else around her, maybe one or two other people.

"Dante is . . . Uh-" Vergil paused.

His eyes focused on the picture over the desk, the picture of mom posing with her sons. But, what had gotten his attention the most was . . . Was a slashed glove placed next to the frame.  
He remembered exactly what it was, what it must be. The same glove Dante wore when they had their last, true fight, inside Temen-Ni-Gru. Youthful rivalry turned enraged familial dispute.  
Those final words they'd shared were inspiring at the time, now ringing only with a sad sentiment.

'-And now? My soul is saying it wants to _stop you_!' The memory pained his forehead, scratching at the spot just behind his left eye socket.

He cleared his head, and suppressed the pain.

Grunting, he finally responded, "Er- I'm Dante."

It didn't sound confident at all, but it broke the silence.

"-Can you please come to Dumary Island? I will be waiting for you abroad."

"Abroad? I don't think- Listen, why are you seeking my service?" Vergil opened several of the drawers on the desk in quick succession as he spoke.

He found a notepad and several pens. Among them sat two papers, filled to the brim with cryptic writings.

The very first line was, 'I can't take this anymore . . .' He tucked it away for a bit later.  
The voice on the line gave information as he clicked a pen. He scribbled what he could.

"Please, it is one emergency." The voice spoke with semblances of sincerity.

"You know, I really think that's not- _*sigh*_ , never mind. What is your name?" He sighed, slightly annoyed by the improper usage of the language.

"My name is Lucia."

After some time, Vergil answered, "Very well, I will be there when I can. I trust you know my rate?"

"Of course, half when you get here, half after dark." She said, sounding confident in her choice of words.

"Wait no, in what context-" _And_ click.

She hung up the phone.

All he could do was look at the receiver and grimace. He heaved a long shudder, took the glove and brought it close so he could examine it. The Yamato's mark still there . . .

It was like a scar. There, the obvious cut in the middle of the palm, it was entirely the same glove as he thought.

He exhaled and fell upon the chair.  
The silence in the place gave him a renewed, horrifying sense of emptiness.

He never imagined the feeling of loneliness could engulf him, ever.

Then there was that paper. It sparked his curiosity. At last, he reached into the drawer and took out the paper.

He started reading and gulped hard:

* * *

 _I can't take this anymore . . . Mom, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I couldn't help him. I tried to drag him out, I wanted him to be here with me, but he made a different choice._  
 _I suppose I knew he was always going to do that. He'd grown to value power more than any familial sentiment. His last words were for dad, I know you stressed his reverence._  
 _But. . . I can't let it go. I've tried to accept that he left, but it only ever comes back to haunt me. Now too, Vergil does the same._

 _Consider it another notch in the family's long line of bad choices. Not that Dad made a bad decision sticking up for humanity, we happen to agree there._

 _Mom, I miss you so much. I promise, Mundus will pay for it. No matter what it takes. I promise, I will try to find my way back to hell. I'll drag that stubborn bastard out by his ear. . ._

 _I'm sorry Vergil._

* * *

He choked on air at the last line. He couldn't believe his eyes.

It was a letter addressed to their mother, beneath a header that said 'Anniversary.' Dante had never forgotten about her, keeping the woman close at heart.  
Vergil felt an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt, he'd let her go long ago. And then there was this small note to her, a fond remembrance and lament for their split family.

Was Dante feeling guilty for walking out of the demon world without him? It seemed he even regretted calling him a 'stubborn bastard.'

Heh. Hehehe.

Vergil broke out into a strange laughter, unable to restrain himself.

He kept laughing and laughing, slowly growing silent and distraught again as the reality crashed back on him like a freight train.

"You fool . . . Why?" He said under his breath, his voice cracking as he placed the papers back in their drawer.

Sitting back in the chair felt so tiring.

"You couldn't have picked a simpler occupation? No . . . Of course not, you stubborn bastard-" Vergil choked up again, so he left the chair and paced into a hall.

Climbing upstairs, he routed around through the place till he went through a door, inside to the bedroom.  
The place was small but neat. It barely had enough space for a bed and a closet, though somehow Dante put both in here.  
Behind, or rather around, the armoire was a window where he could see a fire escape. Perfect view of . . . The desolately empty parking lot.  
The bathroom was open and had the basic materials needed. Dante was always pretty simple.

Vergil took a pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet, assuming Dante used these to fix his hair. He was right.

Running his fingers through that overgrown mane, he messed around until it fell down over his face.

It'd been a long time since he had it cut.

The length of his hair now touched his shoulders. He heaved a sigh and started cutting, shedding and trimming, until it was quite a bit shorter than before.  
Around twenty five minutes later, and a few of his bangs parted in front of his right eye. He leaned over the sink, throwing the light hair into the small trash can nearby.  
So many locks gone.

"I'm in your debt Dante. I'm actually in your debt, for once." He whispered.

He leaned against the counter and placed his palm over his forehead. Sharply breathing in and out, he tried to calm his lost mind.

At last, he straightened himself, trimmed up a few rogue hairs, and walked out of the bathroom. His clothes were ragged and filthy.

So he threw them out the window, dumping them into the open dumpster outside. Closet: Next visit.

Inside was a red and black coat. The black hugged the torso, with a red trench coat overhang to the tails and sleeves. It must have been a recent development that Dante worked on.  
At the bottom of the closet were several boots and pants. Vergil changed into red pants with two black belts each wrapped around his thighs.  
A belt featuring a skull-themed buckle wrapped around his waist, and he wore black, old-west-like gloves with three fastened straps on each one.  
Attached to his feet were knee-high black boots. The matching red sections were a deeper scarlet than he remembered Dante wearing.

With two, protracted coat tails and a black long-sleeved shirt underneath, he snapped on a black holster, meant for Rebellion, wrapping over his right shoulder and around his chest.  
Two golden studs decorated the front of the strap. The harness fit well, functioning efficient also. He'd find a weapon to fit it one day, but for now it would simply have to exist empty.

Vergil returned to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror.

It felt bizarre at first, completely wrong in fact. It was like Dante came to life, staring him down through the mirror.

'So that's what that felt like. . .' He thought.

Once it was done, Vergil scratched the back of his head. The place was still quiet, but it meant little.  
Every footstep he made echoed throughout. The neon sign in the back flickered out as Vergil took hold of the front door handle, then closed it behind him.  
The street was still quite. Everything hushed out, and no one walked the sidewalks. Here and there, there would be one or two, since it was bed time.

Not his, though.

Vergil stopped midway when he saw a familiar face.

It was a woman, with her pinstripe jacket hung so as to reveal no bra, and unbuttoned lazily.

She had short raven hair, with locks on both sides of her face and a fringe covering her forehead and eyebrows.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading. I hope you liked this version much better.**

* * *

 **Beta Reader here: Just a quick message from Angel Wolf, I noticed some rough edges to this and gave it a polish, allowing it to feel stylistically closer to later chapters.**  
 **That's all for now, I just did a simple rewrite, not too involved. Anyway, enjoy the rest of the story.**


	2. Chapter 2 Lady Evil

**Chapter 2 ~ Lady Evil**

* * *

Once her eyes fell upon those sunken shoulders, she smirked. Vergil returned glances and pondered her for a moment as she came walking through the door.

'What's her name? Moira... Maria? It must be one of the two.'  
It was ironic, considering the last time he saw her, he barely had to care.

"Well, welcome back, Dante. I was coming to look for you actually." She said, that trademark saucy smile gliding over her face.

Trademark to who?

'Dante' stood still watching her . . . without a waver. He put one hand in his coat pocket while the other was out at the ready in case he needed to draw his weapon.  
The last he'd known of this woman was that she sought the extinction of devils like him. It occurred to the man that he didn't really have a concept of how much time had slipped away from his grasp.

He stared at her blankly, almost like he didn't know her.

" . . . Aren't you going to ask why I came?" The woman said after a small, stilted silence.

Vergil heaved a sigh, "What kind of job?"

It was a bit tough to handle, but he tried to summon up his brother's mannerisms; that distinctive, laid-back drawl. It came out garbled.  
He'd never had to mimic him before, his voice cracked and the tone was inconsistent. His shot in the dark paid off, but she caught on, his falter confusing her.  
Lady picked at him for a moment with a squint.

"Are-. . . Are you feeling alright?" Leaning on her left hip with her hand.

Oh, she was a sassy one with those shorts.

Vergil tensed slightly.

"I'm quite well-. . . I'm okay, like you said I just returned." He caught himself and suppressed the formal speech pattern he'd become versed in.

That didn't help the odd addition of a New Yorker pronunciation, it made him sound bizarre, but they both supposed it was closer to Dante than what he was doing before.

Lady walked up to him, close enough to invade his personal space. It was far too claustrophobic for his liking.  
He clenched his fist and moved away slightly from the devil huntress, pretending to 'coincidentally' read his mail. He wanted to avoid giving her the wrong idea.  
It's not like he hadn't seen a woman before, lord knows he'd had his fair share; it was just her closeness that he didn't desire, it wasn't something he sought.

For the moment, he wanted no one near him.

Her father . . . still left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Okaaaay?" She dragged out her timbre, then keyed into his body language.

Dante, the man who should be flirting with her every chance he got . . . was physically uncomfortable. Around her?  
With the whole school-girl vibe, she figured it was to be expected that men would be enticed, she used it to her advantage often.  
Did he always have a thing about being close to her? No, no . . . He'd hugged her the last time she saw him.

In fact, she knew that wasn't true, thinking back on the time when he fought her inside Temen-Ni-Gru.

A blue moon perhaps?

"Well, there's a Demon pack nearby. You wanna join the party?" She pointed at the street to their left and motioned up-ahead, pass the traffic light.

She archived this moment in case she needed to recall it later. Something was different, changed.

The man felt this a little contrived, why were demon's so near to humanity? The city wasn't a normal breeding ground for this kind of activity.  
Then there was the matter of his brother's occupation . . . He'd taken one job but it was odd, did he really want to continue this?  
In truth, he hadn't even expected these questions to present themselves so soon. So, here it was, now it was time to decide, whether he knew what was best or not.

"Understood." He said, walking out unarmed.

"Uh, where's your stuff? Gonna brave it unarmed?" She quickly pointed out.

He fidgeted, but ultimately looked back at her, "Uh, yeah- I'm gonna try something new."

He wondered if that sounded better than his last attempt.

Walking out his front doorstep, they trekked on over to the destination, so oddly close by.  
The man took the lead, strolling on ahead of her toward the downtown district.

She prepped her guns by the flick of the safety switches. From there, she walked closely beside him.

Several people watched her, worried. They knew her, they knew him, and no good ever came when they were out and about, it sort of signaled 'go hide.'  
They gathered around in small crowds, some even blocking the path forward. She scowled at them, and civilians got the understanding that something bad was brewing.  
Well, at least when they showed up, it was known that the problem would soon sort itself out.

Still, they blocked the way forward, and she wouldn't have that.

"Move it now." She addressed them coldly.

That was enough for this group.

However, before they had the chance to react, a sound of screeching metal boomed through the streets, scaring all non-hunters.  
Instinctively, the lady lined up her pistol sights to the roof of a convenience store. The neon sign flickered in and out, occasionally illuminating the demonic creatures beside it.  
A thick bile ran from their mouths, corroding the enamel on their colossal teeth, and fizzling down the stone building. What gruesome beasts.

Three maddening smiles affixed themselves as the red eyes in their skulls remained luminescent.

Each looked like a reptilian, with cracked, scaly legs, sliding on all fours and baring fangs, arranged like shark's teeth.  
Atop it's forehead was an organic crest, so bulky that no weapon, be it bullet or sword, could even pierce the thing.

Their bodies were built like predators, thick and mean. All of the arms ended in massive, ancient claws. Jurassic park opened rather late today.

In spite of the odds, Lady took it in stride. Her trusty SMGs at her sides, she drew one up like lightning, and the rate of fire between a pistol and a machine gun lit the street.  
With every blink of combustion, they sprinted left to right, dashing out of her fire like flies to a swatter, circling around to close the distance.  
Her shades reflected its approach . . . A few bullets ricocheted through the sign, sending out sparks and shocks into a nearby beast. The meager light-source blacked out.  
She continued firing, the sign eventually coming away and dropping down onto another beast, but this thing only shook and slapped the ground. More firing.

She'd just blame that bit of property damage on one of the demons.

As another came for her, she directed the bullet spray to it's face, showering it in lead-etiquette as she sought to delay it's approach.

Using the force of the bullets, the lizard-like beast flipped 360 degrees in mid-air back to it's feet, tensing up. Gargling on its own blood, the monster spat it out, then lunged.

From the darkness, a swipe nearly tore the bounty hunter's mid-section open. She dashed back, hoping for the last ditch effort to miss completely.

The shout of her gun overshadowed their roars, as each charged toward her, ready to gut. She shot the jaw and it lost all of its energy, dropping to the ground.  
From there, she reached to her lower back and revealed a frag grenade. All others were stunned, unable to account to for the newly revealed weapon.  
In it's dazed state, she pulled the pin and lightly tossed it inside the creature's maw. The throw was perfect, and the object lodged itself in the beast's throat.

Lifting it's head up, it snarled at her, seconds before detonation. A brilliant burst of vibrant gore exploded in all directions, painting abandoned cars and walls a sickening crimson.

She exhaled proudly and scanned around for it's friends. Without warning, she heard a rasp behind her. Twisting 180 degrees, she closed her eyes, knowing it should have been the end.

She got careless.

A sudden sound and the shifting of the wind around her made her wince back a step. A death rattle greeted her, drooping out of the beat's mouth.

She hazarded a glance. 'Dante' had killed the other demon with a simple beheading and had dueled the other while she was busy wasting ammo.  
In front of her, there lay a sword through it's jugular, and the man, twisting and turning the blade with an uncharacteristic cruelty.

"Watch yourself." He said, turning back to her with glowing eyes. The creature fell to the ground, passing on as he walked away.

She stared at his broad-shouldered back. 'What happened to you out there?' It echoed through her mind alone.

Up ahead, following him, she could hear multiple voices, from twisted devil grunts to the slayer's vocalizations fighting them off.

Lady rounded the corner after him and was taken aback.

'Dante' was in the middle of scarecrows. Many, many scarecrows. Yet, he didn't use his guns.

He was moving swiftly with blue blades dancing in the air, catching any creature who attempted to jump him.

Dante moved his hand out in front of himself, and a storm of cyan broadswords circled him, slicing and dicing through the myriad of scaly savages.  
He drew Yamato then dived forward, slashing through two combatants that were not as stunned as the rest. He reaped their insides like piñatas, disemboweling them.  
Moving both of his hands like he was holding twin guns, he spun rapidly on his toes, summoning multiple sword constructs that shined brilliantly in the night sky.

He went for head shots, killing off the bulk of them.

The projected weapons scattered out in a wave, violently smashing across demon flesh eternal.

Gleaming so brightly, it was almost disturbing how effective the sapphire blades were. They grooved with the blood of demons, all spilled onto the street in a horrifying pattern.

He drew Yamato again and executed a forward rapid slash, galloping abroad and slicing horizontally.  
Three still standing at once bisected themselves, flying away in different directions chaotically.  
Hitting the top of someone's car by accident, the glass crunched and splintered against the metal. The lights cut out while the alarm sounded.

Stopping once, he saw an orange, smoky shape belting scarecrows his way. Vergil looked back at the source, and he saw his brother's partner-in-crime stare at him with a lurid grin.

Lady moved her weapon Kailna Ann to her hip and fired again. The brass casings rained down to the asphalt.

Vergil ducked, the bazooka's shell arriving right above him into a pack of lunging scarecrows.

More death, the gleeful kind that left you with a rush.

He straightened up and dusted himself off again, clasping tightly unto Yamato. He glared directly back at her with a minor distain.  
Lightly shaking his head, he'd moved his hand slightly almost as if he would unsheathe his weapon on her, right then and there.

Blue energy emerged and a gaggle of other fiends took their judgment cuts.

Exploding into severed limbs and piles of mush, Lady saw strings of reflected, metallic light.  
They were strangely familiar, a sort of blue-purple, though she couldn't put her finger on where she'd seen it before.

"Hmm, seems like you've got some new tricks since last time, don't ya?" Lady said politely as she holstered her weapons. "By the way . . . that Vergil's weapon? Or is my memory defective?"

'Dante' took a deep sigh and moved his bangs out of his eyes.  
He almost pushed his hair back up into it's old style, out of reflex.

"Yes, I found this on the last job of all places."

"Gotcha. Since when did you put elegance into your style?" She threw her follow up at his face, a disrespectful insult.

He grumbled.

"People grow, Mary."

"The hell'd you just say?" She interrogated sharply.

He was silent at first, surprised by her volatile reaction.

"That's-. . . your name . . . "

Lady frowned at him, she wanted to choke him so bad that moment.  
It's exactly like him to try to tease her, but this was going far.

"You were the first person to call me as Lady, don't you ever remind me of that _other_ name again, ever!" She shouted, her left hand twitched as she came close to redrawing her pistol.

A demonic groan rustled in her eyes.

She crouched, avoiding another scarecrow's blade, and threw out a roundhouse kick to the head. Her legs were powerful, always had been.  
So, the boot took the creature by surprise, driving enough force to flip it over vertically, and then she fired a shot from her pistol. The bullet hit the weak spot.  
It died before it even hit the ground.

Lady frowned deeply, aware of his icy eyes crushingly fixated on her, and with a strange smirk on his lips.

She felt her head spin from the effort, but she righted herself instantly.  
Focusing all her will to stay alert, she remained as dignified as possible.

"You don't need to act tough around me, it's pointless. You may as well sit down and take your breath." Vergil said, gesturing at the sidewalk that suddenly looked quite inviting.

'He must be out of his mind!'

"I don't require _your permission,_ Dante. I will be fine." Lady replied with bitter sarcasm, feeling her anger return with an immediate sense of despair.

She hated feeling like she would fall behind . . . It's a fact Lady avoids most of the time. She tried to steel herself for tough enemies, always.

That didn't necessarily mean it was any less dangerous for someone even as physically fit as her.  
She was well aware of the way she looked, and she reveled in that for the longest time.

Vergil shrugged in character.

"If you don't slow down, next time, you'll collapse in the middle of a fight. Did you wish to be demon food? As far as I'm concerned, you're still human. Do not push your natural limits." He said.

His voice was monotonous, cold.

Lady seemed to consider his words for a moment, indeed she was tired tonight and perhaps the red mercenary caught that easily, before mumbling in bitterness,

"Have you read a dictionary . . . ? Nice grammar. You've been weird tonight, seriously."

Crap. He'd slipped into old habits without realizing it.

On the outside, 'Dante' merely stared at her in silence for a moment.

"Ya may never know, but all that carefree attitude might've been just a mask. Maybe it's the right time to tear it off."

She crossed her arms, he still didn't sound right, but she gave him a break.  
A more serious expression bled through when she realized why this might be so.

"I can't imagine what you've been through." She said.

Gazing down at the ground, his eyes strained for a moment. The memory of Dante dying in his arms.

An unspoken truth, followed with the strange ache in his heart.

Lady couldn't read him at all. However, she _did_ understand, the two of them were similar. Both suffered a horrible family loss because of the hellions . . . They blighted the world.  
Whatever Dante saw on that island, it definitely changed him, that much was certain. Perhaps . . . Perhaps after all these years, he was coming to terms with his tragedy.

"Ya do know we're not strangers, right?" She asked him.

Vergil brought his sight to meet hers. A bit weirded out, he said, "Yes . . . I mean-. . . Yeah. Of course."

Even though he didn't really believe it, perhaps this woman meant something to Dante. Why? Why would he waste time on a girl like her?

Maybe it was something he could discover someday, though he felt too far gone.

"I know how horrible it is; losing _that_ much." She continued.

"Are we done here?" He asked. Lady nodded, letting him go.

It never was her style to talk about these heavy subjects anyway.

Still, she felt nuances of sympathy.

Then there was the subject of her name. Speaking of which- Wait a moment!

"Wait . . . When did you-?" She said loudly, but he was already gone. Her cellphone interrupted the long silence moment, " . . . learn my name?"

Lady grabbed the device.  
It was retro, one of those old flip phones that had reliable buttons and a readable screen.

Looking at the ID, it was a client.

"Yeah?" She answered smugly, "Several women missing . . . What does he look like? . . . That's fine, it'll just be longer, then . . . Alright-. I'm on my way."

Lady holstered her phone and then started heading back towards the Devil May Cry shop. It was close to her new destination.

Vergil exhaled strongly.

'What is it about humans that were so worth giving your life for? They constantly seek to destroy themselves, sometimes at an even greater rate when they believe they're the only intellect capable of it.  
It just . . . It just doesn't make sense . . .' Vergil pondered as he entered his shop, turning in till the next client would ring him up. He wondered how long this charade would even last.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, please leave a review.**

 **Sorry for the short chapter, I wanted this to be for Vergil and Lady meeting again, I will post longer in the future.**

 **Thank you to my Beta Angel Wolf for your help.**


	3. Chapter 3 The Killing Road

**Will, I think this is much better now.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - The Killing Road**

* * *

The trees in the forest were malady-brown. Grains of poison tarnished the bark and gleamed like witch dust.  
Trolls haunted the sooty coppices, salivating over their prey and smearing blood over their heavy faces.

The decaying air, the stifling atmosphere; it provided the perfect abode for those who worshipped the darkness rather than the light. In the dense shadows, spiders clutched their snare-strings.

Their webs shimmered like meshed steel dipped in silver. Eyes a-flame with hunger, hoping to dine on bloated bodies and gorge on the inner prizes.

It was a primordial forest. Centuries-old trees with sprawling limbs safe-guarded the darkness, blotting out any sunlight.  
Their bark was mottled and splotched, as if boiling oil had been frozen in time on its surface. Numerous, clumpy combs of wet moss dangled from their rotten boughs.  
Underneath this moss, lethal larkspur peppered the mulch-y floor.

A pungent tang oozed from every sentient being in the forest. Lamenting wails ghosted through the trees.  
Whether it was from victim or victor, only the forest could tell, it was truly a place to make one's veins freeze over.  
Everything considered edible in other woods was nauseating here. It left you with the same sickening sense as blood seeping across your skin.

This was a forest to be avoided.

A tall, tanned, lithe woman stood at the edge, with her left hand and fingers curled. She closed them, then flexed out several times.

Her eyes stared off into the distance without really looking at the view. She was in a completely different place, mentally.

The matron was dressed in a grey top and pants, going well with her exposed midriff and short white cape that draped over half of her torso.  
She had a pair of brown cowgirl boots that had a strap around her calves. Her skinny jeans were faded a bit but still nimble enough for her to not worry about clunky resistance.  
Her unusual vermillion-colored hair was tied into a braid over the left side of her face, giving her a darkened, moody presence. Her hard stare helped matters along.

A sound interrupted the silence of the dark timberlands. Crows flew through the leaves, into the sky, and then made multiple strange squawks, announcing something from the distance.

The woman held unto her daggers, rolled her shoulders back and activated her muscles, fully ready. In the dim tree line there was a small, faint glint from one of the dirks.  
Her eyes strained as she scanned the area. Moments of booming silence were followed with the occasional sound of footsteps that brushed along the forest floor.

There was a clearing in the trees before she saw a creature show itself.

It had wings and backward horns in its forehead. It appeared more decorative than practical.

Possessing a body of a human but large claws from its hands, its wings were skin and bone, with visible blood vessels similar to that of a bat.

The woman bared her teeth slightly and was about to charge forward. Suddenly, a blue light rammed through the creature.  
Screeching, it fell face down into the ground trembling. The clanging sound of a sword appeared as it carved up the flesh of the beast.  
Black patches of fluid caked several trees.

The unnamed woman's eyes darted through the foliage to locate the source. In the dark, he appeared; the demon hunter, clasping his sheathed katana.

'Dante' knelt down, forcing his knee onto it's ribs, then held the demon's neck in a death grip.

Instantly, a loud crack rung out, followed by a forced exhale and the complete collapse of it's windpipe.  
Blood seeped out it's mouth slowly as the skull rocked back to the ground on the left temple, no longer supported by any vertebrae.  
Swiftly drawing Yamato, he drove it through the demon's chest.

For added measure, Dante twisted the blade to make the journey into nothingness the absolute opposite of welcoming.

The creature fell lifeless under him.

The woman watched in admiration.

"You called me here." Dante whispered.

He watched the woman closely, he could sense the power radiating from within her. She was a demon, but . . . something was a bit off about her. He just couldn't exactly place it.  
The lack of intention. There wasn't any interest in conflict. A rare trait that either the most deceptive demons possessed or the friendliest. Type two tended not to exist.

"Thank you, for coming." The woman spoke in a thick Eastern European accent.

Staying her blades, she came closer to him, "Deep into the forest, where people went missing. I'm coming with you. And the name is Lucia, if you've forgotten."

Dante glared her down, "Don't take me for a fool."

"Of course no." She said.

"Did you . . . mean 'not?'" Dante asked her.

She seemed not to understand what he was saying, striking a confused look.

"I guess that means yes." He mumbled. Clearing his throat, he then loudly clarified, "Let's be quick then, this forest is daunting enough empty."

He nodded for the woman to lead him to where they need to go.

"You are prompt, I appreciate." She told him.

"It looks like your lucky day." He said, and he could it now. He felt himself letting go of that old stern tone, little by little.

The subsequent walk was a calm one, as neither one of them spoke. Lucia noticed the posture of Dante and his choice in attire. All functional, sophisticated.  
Red was a bold choice in particular, but she liked the color red, her own hair was not too far removed from it. The slayer stood with his shoulders leveled, relaxed.  
He caught her staring.

"It makes the blood easier to wash out." Dante commented as a way to remind her: Eyes front.

The walk from there remained drenched in silence till they arrived after an hour of walking.

* * *

 **. . . The blue one walked a path meant for his red counterpart, a spinning coin in a churning sea of fate . . .**

* * *

Every child in the nearby village had laughed at the forest-lore, passed down by the woodcutters all those years ago.  
Now the villagers themselves were gone, swept away by the endless ocean of time, and Dante had known the saying to be true.  
He had a duty, bound to help. Vergil was more intrigued by the fact that a full-fledged demon would want to help humans.

He watched the demons carefully. Indigo eyes and a waxy, pallor skin marked them out as the flesh-eaters they were. Hidden in plain sight inside skin tickets, how bold.

Spellbound and revolted in equal measure, the half-man glared on as they danced a ghastly ritual around a huge fire, ululating to the beat of a rumbling drum.  
Their large arms were akimbo, their expressions frenzied, and their victims crying as they dragged the first human towards the pig-spit, a female screaming in fear, crying for help.

The stone-faced Vergil raised his arm. A blue blade bolted through the dark.

It tore into one of them, impaling the demon through it's chest.

Flying back off it's feet, it crashed to the ground, pinned there. It struggled to get free but failed. Through cyan light, Dante vanished.

"Hmph." He muttered aloud, amused by their feeble attempts to locate him.

They screamed and swung wildly, looking for any part of him to smash. These beasts were wild and still hungry, his flesh they so craved.  
The demonic hunter fluxed into existence on their left. Summoning two azure brands, they hovered behind his shoulders waiting for his command.  
A giant scythe-bearing savage charged solely at the half-breed first, readily eager to consume him down to his bones.

"Caution!" Lucia gave a shout.

Dante grumbled as he released the blades, annoyed at having failed to successfully get a grip on his opponent. If she'd just stayed quiet . . .

He ducked the first swipe masterfully. His arctic eyes flared with an untold ferocity. Immediately, the man dashed off, carting onto his side, but it was a second too late.

Lucia's efforts were harmless, blocked by the crimson shield generated by the creature's own core, and within a split second, Dante was imprisoned inside the demon's hold.  
His iron muscles tightened, then immediately loosened. He'd tensed on impact, the blade inside his ribs. The man's sturdy legs parted slightly as he found his balance.

The demon lunged at Lucia then with a speed even a fighter like herself couldn't match.  
She attempted to dodge, but the creature nicked the side of her neck.  
She crashed through the first row of falling trees, silently cursing the demon.

Picking herself up once again, she quickly felt the air at her side whip.

That was all the warning she got.

Mid-turn, she felt something pierce her left shoulder while a firm hand gripped her right one. Pulled around, she was hurled back into the scythe's line of fire.  
She bit her lip over the pain, throwing her knives down toward the creature's feet. Metal on metal ground against unholy bones, blood flowing over the ground.

It gave a horrid growl, the scythe severed out of its skeletal grip. The malefic abomination was enraged and far from dead, but that brief distraction was all 'Dante' needed.  
He broke apart the giant scythe with his fist, embedded like a ghastly trophy, and his left hand closed over Yamato's hilt.  
Armed thusly, Vergil 's mighty power pulsing through the katana, the cursed trees quivering as he sliced upward at the savage.

Abyssal red eyes flickered, registering the beast's mistake. Rage replaced the fear inside him. One could not afford to underestimate Sparda's offspring.

Severing an arm, he brought the hilt back towards his chest, then stabbed out.  
It broke the flesh and drove forward to break on through to the other side.

Blood poured from it's mouth uncontrollably, Vergil's best kill in years. At least it meant something. He bore teeth, his fingers tightened to the point of blisters, and the man tore the blade back out.  
Turning on his heels, he faced the opposite direction of his foe, but drew the blade back into it's home, the Yamato's scabbard. He let it fall in quickly, save for a pale inch, delaying it's completion.  
One moment later, and he'd closed the gap with a forceful click.

His enemy was at death's door now, shriveled up and limping.

Then, it exploded into quivering cubes of jelly, blue cosmic slices macerating it's body from thin air.

Lucia charged at the underlings, figuring the best strategy would be to leave the bigger dogs to Dante.

Several daggers came off her belt and several more were hidden inside her cape.  
A demon beheld a dagger driven through its eye as it sprinted at her full bore.  
Raising her left leg, the slick succubus crushed her boot into the blade, skewering it further in.

It stopped instantly, then just fell over, crumbling to ash.

Next, she ducked an incoming claw, rolling her torso backwards while standing, bending inhumanly to dodge as she brought her right hand down, slashing through the devil's arm with her knife.  
Stabbing directly into the creature's head, she put the thing to sleep as soon as she could, then ducked without looking as another demonic fist swung through the air. She forced her boot back.  
The swan-like kick pounded it's stomach like a hammer grinding meat, knocking the minion around.

Rolling back, she stabbed downward into both it's eyes, blinding it as she killed the thing.

Coming up for air, she blocked an attempted slashing of her throat, the beast's claws bouncing off her right-hand dagger.

Retaliation came with a quick stab into it's jugular, followed by a roundhouse kick to it's roach-infested head.

She swiped at whomever opposed her. Rapidly, each one of them crumpled to the ground, their souls returning to dust.

Violent slashes and further dice and spikes bred a blood-filled ground soon enough.

By force-of-habit, Lucia retrieved several of the salvageable daggers. Her eyes glazed over her shoulder to see 'Dante' the victor.

Two other big honchos had tried to assert their dominance over him, but the slayer was not to be deterred.

Staring, she kept quiet for a minute, almost forgetting about the grisly assailants. Almost.

As another made it's way toward her, it tried to bite at her flesh, using that long set of razor teeth to open wide. A dagger entered it's trachea, and that solved that problem.  
Blunt force trauma worked spectacularly well when applied to soft tissues inside the body. It's throat never stood a chance. A moment later and a blood trail followed her knife.

That was the last one.

Dante took note of their bizarre appearance, they looked strange.

They were demons he'd never met before in his many, many years; not even in the Demon Realm-proper.  
He glanced back at Lucia. She aided those who survived, leading them into the grass nearby.

The empty field was safe, no monsters to prey from above.

Something . . . maternal just sort of 'clicked' in her. So, she gave them comfort.

A woman held Lucia's hand and spoke some words that he couldn't understand, at least not from afar . . . Not yet. Meanwhile, the men were so afraid they couldn't say a thing other than, "Thank you!"

It was an interesting sight. Some kind of emotion he'd never really seen much before.  
The slayer wondered what made her act this way, what drove home these decisions.

"You're helping them . . . Why?" He wondered aloud, speculating what kind of answer she might give him.

Long or short, it didn't matter, the concept was fascinatingly foreign.  
Lucia secured the area and assured she would return to the group soon.

Facing him, she approached and said, "Because they are innocent, they deserve to be helped," She looked at him confused, "Are you saying me you are going to leave them if you had the choice?"

"I certainly could, and should walk away. Depends on the situation. It's foolish to play the hero, everything dies eventually." 'Dante' observed the people as rejoiced with their loved ones.

Ignorant weaklings every one of them.

"I do not understand you. If you think like this, than why take jobs?" Lucia flicked a dagger of blood then holstered it. "Does this mean Sparda was a fool too?"

Vergil heaved a long shudder, he himself didn't understand why he took Dante's place.  
His company watched the expressions of those grateful, mourning the grateful dead.  
The callous brother looked to the side as his right hand rested itself in a pocket lazily.

That was new, when did he pick that up?

Perhaps a bit of Dante's spirit was with him, but this wasn't the time to fidget on the idea.

"Honor that overrules common sense and logic is just another facet of idiocy. You know it's sad but true, only _I_ know when to walk away." He frowned in her direction, dropping the pretenses of imitation.

Continuing, "And please, don't mention Sparda again."

He removed his hand from his pocket and let his fingers relax in the breeze.  
The woman glared at his eyes, unmoved. She considered drawing out a dagger but thought better of it.

"You are a strange, Dante." She shook her head solemnly, and took a step away from him.

The comment just left him confused, sometimes she could communicate well, other times . . . Lord help her.

"Where did you learn to speak . . ." He mumbled casually, mocking her.

Lucia stood proudly, turning back to him. "I belong to the clan of Vie de Marli. We secure and protect everyone in this land. Maybe, you will learn that someday."

Damn.

Perfect english there.

'Dante' crossed his arms, unsure of what to make of this whole event. "Why then did you seek my help for this kind of job? You proved your clan can _not_ protect your people."

"I wanted to meet you in person and see if the rumors were not lies." She replied, "No matter how tough we are, we won't handling every demonic entity resided here."

And there it went.

His frosty demeanor never faltered on the surface, but inside he was unsure how to feel. Never had he encountered these emotions during his time with Mundus.  
He'd lost his human soul, made so corrupt that the vines blotted out all light. Looking back, he was shielded from it by his darkness, a shroud clotting his mind, diseasing him.  
Though he recognized it, he didn't know what it was exactly, that much was still what he had to figure out.

He had preyed on dreaded creatures that could shock anyone into deep-seated fear.  
In the fathomless bowels and dripping basins of the deepest caverns in the demon world, they roamed and he quarried.

He'd ascended sky-kissing mountains, look-alike valley's and trekked across some of the most jagged black rocks known, all to seek out blood-bathed brethren.

But this dark forest was different to anywhere he'd been before.

Hunting after such beasts into dunes and burrows, down into grimy pits through gloomy hollows; it couldn't begin to compare to this gullet of madness.

Just being here felt like partaking in an unholy parody of his own knowledge base.  
He followed her through the thick grass, silent. They were about to reach a larger clearing than earlier, another place to inspect.  
The air was growing cold, fueling his ember heart's crematory menace, the burning fire within him rising slowly.

"Stop," Dante warned; a calm rime-laced tone accompanied the order.

The woman was about to ask. Vergil interrupted with a visual cue, placing a finger to his lips. He began motioning silently and grabbed his katana.  
Slowly, he unsheathed the beautiful weapon, it's lightly curved elegance prepared to destroy demons again. The maneuver was smooth, comfortable.  
Lucia analyzed his every waking movement and tick. Promptly, she drew her silver short swords, grabbing the hilts tightly.

She backed away from the path ahead slowly.

After a moment of silence, she could hear it all, the sounds of demons almost close to them . . . how could she miss that?

His hearing had grown better now, greater than it was earlier somehow. He could hear these beasts and their crooked machinations.  
They tore at the humble ground, lacerating the earth beneath each foul step. It was a blight to the soil, their twisted tissue.  
Accompanying them, the low croaking of a demonic horde; they communicated with one other and started moving about, sniffing for them.

The son of Sparda wasn't far.

They were Hell Vanguards by what he could tell, nasty, annoying creatures with their black cloaks and screeches.  
Abnormal to their scythes were the purple-blue flames that burned brightly, he remembered the last time he'd seen one.  
The tower . . . all those years ago.

Sensing the duo as prey on the other side, the monsters pounced, smashing into their blurry sight inside a flurry of sand.  
Their scythes were raised aloft, hungry to seek and destroy tender flesh, dutiful soldiers.  
They'd searched for a long, long time, only now discovering fresh meat to chew, empty shells.

She was the first to react, throwing her recovered throwing knives with professional accuracy. The fine points found their targets easily.

It was an apparent problem that they did nothing to her intended kill. So, aiming to improvise, the huntress refocused her attention on the lesser demons that started crowding around.

Can't fault a golden strategy.

The minimally damaged Vanguard lunged toward Dante, seeing he was the closest target, scythe lifted as it went for his face. The Slayer shoved Yamato above his head.  
The strike bounced and ground it's way up against the steel, held by Vergil's right arm, crossing over his serious face. He seemed to despise every bit of this, those wails reminding him.  
Lifting his blade up, he forced the scythe around in a circle, locking it on his right side, from it's view, the left. Forcing his free hand forward, he balled it into a fist.  
The devil's knuckles made contact, and a thin needle of white light burst out the vanguard's backside, electric currents accompanying the fine point through the air.

It stumbled backward, it's chest caved in by pressure. Slowly, it's ghost-like cry croaked out for release, the grip on it's scythe faltering.  
Still, the creature clung on to life, refusing to let go of its weapon. He heard a crunch as it's lungs forcibly expanded against shattered ribs.

As it mounted some kind of protective measure, he shifted around faster than it could perceive, darting off right as it's great sickle lifted up to the left.

As he moved he struck Yamato out towards the vanguard's waist. With one batting motion, he drove the blade sideways, cleaving through it's flesh and bone.

It made a horrible sound, spitting up blue blood upon the ground like a fountain as the man bisected his opponent effortless.

Ashes hit the ground, blown away by the wind. What was left of the vanguard itself was a smug skull, crushed instantly under the slayer's boot.

Of the three, two remained. One sought revenge on Lucia, though the nimble siren easily avoided such lumbering attempts, belting back acrobatic kicks into the demon's pale face.

And the other came after the dark man.

Such as it moved, it's withered form teleported beside Dante in a black cloud. Taking advantage of his distraction, it caught him by surprise with a surprise left swing.  
With eyes blazing sinful fire, the dark reaper brought the scythe around wildly in an oval-sidewinder arc. The blade glanced off his neck, though he managed just barely to duck in time.  
To spite him, the hellish metal grazed his right shoulder, tearing apart some of his shoulder's tendons. Streaks of red chased the weapon from his arm as he held his damaged limb.

His lips twitched, teeth clenching at the sharp pain, his whole arm went numb instantly. Needles and pins pressed on his flesh, acid coursed through him.  
Enraged, he clasped onto his weapon tighter, this despite the damage dealt, and he swung back with a devastating flurry, striking the iron numerous times.

Rapidly, back and forth, he diced Yamato side to side, creating a symphony of destruction out of thin air.

Each strike reached a maximum of 45 miles, the torque alone tearing at the vanguard's cloak, fraying the ends of it's feeble sanity.

It could only defend, that god damn wailing droning on and on. It was content to continue annoying him. Finally, he had enough.  
After so many strikes, he ceased this same sideways trajectory and brought the back to rest beside his calf. With a single motion, he slammed Yamato upwards.  
The slash broke through it's defense, lacerating the rotten flesh, and snapping the beast's weapon in half in it's own hands.

The staff's lower section flew off, impaling itself into a tree trunk.

Bringing the katana back down, he sliced open it's chest cavity, spraying otherworldly blood across the forest grounds.

Vergil then dashed forward into a climactic stab. It just took one.

Driving the weapon through it's target, Yamato tore apart demon flesh in new ways, grinding through bone without remorse. The monster stood there, shocked.  
It's strange blood dripped down and coated his blade. Such liquid transferred strength, reinforcing the object's fortitude. It vanished into thin air, leaving behind shrill, malicious laughter.

He knew that meant it was somehow still alive, as though it were somehow superior to the others.

He stood, fresh wounds slowly closing themselves, forcing himself to attune to his surroundings.

'Dante' closed his eyes, searching through other means.  
It drew near . . . It's presence a black blight to this world.

From the ground below, it emerged, swinging wildly at him. It's wounds still pulsed blood, but still it came for him.

Yet, the demon struck nothing, he'd gone as soon it had launched itself after him.

Confused, it stopped, looking around at everything around it.

Just as it sensed something from above, the Cambion shouted, slamming Yamato's edge down. It could only look as he stabbed the weapon down, cutting through the vanguard's eye.  
The reaper seized up completely still, the blade's steel lodging itself further and further down through it's skull, down into it's shoulder and boney chest. The slayer used both hands to force it down.  
He was seething pride in and out, channeled through his own sword. Digging the weapon as far down as possible, Vergil pushed until the hilt met the skull, then he twisted.

It appeared to stiff and creak, almost like it had turned to clay. With a simple twist of the blade, the being broke apart into dust.

Yamato was abruptly released, and it's edge hit the sandy ground below. Standing up, he looked off to the side and saw the last vanguard.

It had knocked Lucia off course, and she'd seen become encumbered against a variety of other devils that had materialized.  
He could see she was taking care of herself just fine, throwing out brutal kicks and remorseless stabs, the same as before.

It pointed at him, somewhat wounded but still physically able.

He obliged the challenge with a hard stare, motioning with his left hand.

"Come on." He said.

It screamed bloody murder, the wailing wall vaulting up through the air at him meaning strike downward.  
He rose to the challenge, swiping Yamato up where it logically should have landed.  
But the demon snapped out of reality, his blade striking the black fumes it had left behind.

Another vanishing act.

Time to play the waiting game again.

He remembered these, they held little intelligence in those days, he doubted anything had changed since.

All the more, he just had to wait and pay attention . . . Wait and just feel out what was around.

He opened his eyes.

"You're not worthy as my opponent!" 'Dante' uttered a sharp hiss at the cowardly entity as it re-materialized behind him.

Just as abrupt, without even peeking backward first, he thrashed his blade around with one decisive slash. The slayer moved so fast he'd not even disturbed it's cloak.  
It was like lightning struck, invoking a cerulean blaze from the weapon for a single moment. It glowed before them all, pulsing with the power of Sparda's son.  
The Vanguard's shriek ceased abruptly as it stilled, its hideous features frozen in shock. It wilted and cracked, breaking apart into ashes that fluttered along and merged with the sand.

So it goes, it had returned to nothing.

Those that remained were nothing more than grunts. Vergil smirked and slid back, sheathing the katana. He'd settled into a combat stance, but stayed still.  
They screeched coarse clamor, feeling something akin to emotion for it's deceased leaders. He drew the blade an inch, then waited as they all did their little dance.  
Before any could even begin the charge, he shut the blade back into place harshly.

At first, nothing happened.

It was almost serene.

A split-second later, their peace was desecrated by the emergence of black and purple light shafts. They burst into the creatures' limbs, pinning them all into place like marionettes.  
Writhing around for just a moment, a sudden, destructive explosion of light engulfed them all and the strange things ruptured into bright blasts, tearing apart the corpses into mince meat.  
This, too, faded into ash. Becoming nevermore, the entities returned into their former dimension.

Lucia had vanquished all others, leaving them as husks that dried out, devoured soon by the woods.

She huffed out slowly to herself and glared in his direction.

Looking down at the last devil's face, she sheathed her blades and relaxed her shoulders back.

"Amazing." She commented, "I should have not expected anything more from Sparda's son."

Dante's eyes glittered with a detached loneliness. He trudged past her, working to move ahead of the pack and scout for any more enemies to fight.  
She followed behind, bewildered by him. She didn't get why he was the way he was, most certainly not here after all that destructive majesty.

He seemed to be bred for this kind of thing, almost like the sole purpose for his creation was to kill demons. It looked as natural as could be.

How he could walk this killing road and yet still feel so miserable about himself?

Nevertheless, now he seemed like an empty shell, as if the fighting spirit he displayed was all he was, but nothing more.

The next clearing looked peaceful enough. Standing atop a hill's peak, they could see the dark forest's top.

"Years ago this forest used to be filled with life." She whispered with a broken fury, "Then the curse engulfed it all . . . Blood shed in an attempt to retake it. I lost _so_ many people here."

She almost choked on the memory.

"You're awfully emotional. Why bother to share now?" He said, confused.

He never broke from his deep monotone.  
It was different than how he sounded before.

Lucia sighed and gazed back at him. "You work and know how to handle Demons. Even if we disagree, you're able to help without drawing soldiers from our people."

Vergil sighed and returned his attention back to the sight before him.  
It seemed he could finally see the forest for the trees, he was still alive.  
. . . But did he deserve to be? Perhaps that was a question for later.

He snickered to himself whenever he looked at Lucia.

When she noticed, she gave him a sad eye, not even speaking.

He spoke to her, "You asked me why I work for humans, why I take 'jobs.'"

He kept her in suspense for a bit.

"'Where there's a will,' right?"

The woman rolled her eyes, tired from the ordeal. And the two walked on for the task ahead.

* * *

To **Be Continued**

* * *

 **Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this. Please share your thoughts in a review.**

 **I wanted here to show Vergil confused and questioning his own beliefs. It's fairly straightforward, I hope that's not lost under the details.**  
 **Particularly, it struck me as interesting over how hard it might be that he was sensing he could be wrong;**  
 **i.e. - If he were seeing irrefutable proof that his observations of humans were simply incorrect.**

 **Not to mention working through the fact that he's somehow still alive. It was a goal of mine to at least not hand-wave this kind of stuff away. I hope I showed it well enough.**

 **Thanks to my Beta Angel Wolf helping out. That's all for now.**


	4. Chapter 4 Reflections

**Chapter 4 ~ Reflections**

* * *

Vergil stopped to see this new demon before him.

It resembled a cross between a person and an eagle; arms and legs that ended in talons, and a muscular torso covered in fine white feathers.  
The wings extended from both shoulders, feathers both gold and white. A broken set of horns twisted in a thin halo protruding from his dark face.  
It slightly resembled the fallen he had met inside Temen-ni-gru, though far fairer.

'Who's doing this?' He wondered.

The demon yowled at him bloody murder, alerting all the tiny insects that it was there and ready to kill.

Proving he was more than willing to step up to the plate, the hunter prepared his sword in a traditional guard stance.  
He slowed his breath and concentrated to keep his heart beating normally. Settling into stone, in front of him, the Demon cocked it's own sword back and the accompanying shield forward.

From it's outline emanated a white aura.

'Dante' launched himself, Yamato off his waist, propelling it from the side and upward for a clean slash. He slammed the katana up then down onto it's shield.  
The blade was almost ripped from his hands as the demon shoved against his weight, leaving him wide open and off balance.  
Swinging it's thick brand, the deceptively angelic being attacked; first across, down, then jumped and came crushing down.

Dante ducked, sidestepped, and rolled under in response.

The man struck again with judgment cut twice, only to connect with the demon's shield once more.

However, this time, he'd weakened the energy-fueled buckler on contact.  
The sheer degree of force he applied broke it's footing, setting it off kilter. After a spate of teeter-tottering, it managed to dodge a sonic slash in the nick of time.  
It took a small moment to place distance between itself and the man. Biding time, the demon remained weary for a small while, staying put until it was the exact right moment.

Hyper-focused, they circled one another for a time.

Suddenly, it lunged, then vaulted up into the air, twisting and swinging the weapon outward.

A shockwave burst from the blade, and a long line of grass and sand shattered where the blast connected.  
Vergil felt power flow through him again. He channeled that, projecting his strength into the katana.  
Strengthening his stance, he held his ground, releasing a strike through the air that he turned into a rapid tornado.

Spinning faster and faster, he diced in timed increments till a whirlwind offset it's attack, redirecting everything away to the right.  
He was weaker than he used to be, having actually felt the heat of the shock wave. Well, so be it. Shrugging off the blow, the man straightened himself out.

"Come on!" He yelled, beckoning with his hand.

Once more, the enemy became a blur, soaring towards him. The man dashed forward and struck. Their blades clanked off each other, reverberating through his arms.  
The strength that both possessed had the tips of the blades grind as 'Dante' shoved his sword forward in an attempt to shatter the demon's guard.

It restrained itself, reigning in any attempts to attack so that the man couldn't end things quickly.

They sailed past each other, then turned and began to issue volleys of strikes. The hunter danced around, making the skill of dodging seem like an art form.  
At the same time, he returned the heat with his own attacks. The thing flinched on each hit and it's left arm got lashed open during the fray. It dropped the shield.

Vergil delivered the final blow to the chest. In the midst of it all, he caught the scent of something unpleasant; something he thought he finished years ago.

Behind him, the monster planted face first into the ground.

He saw a purple color between the bushes, then a familiar laugh followed.

It flashed in his mind: The ground was shaking, announcing the spell was broken, and he couldn't catch it fast enough.  
He was swiped fast and slammed up against his younger brother, and just like that, he plunged into the darkness below.

"Arkham?" He whispered.

And the buffoon revealed himself.

Rage crept upon him so suddenly, and it burst out in a hateful aura, the man in red bellowing a violent roar as he galloped towards . . . Jester.  
Moving in a perfectly straight, blurry haze, he lurched a hand back and lead with a spiteful fist. With all the pain in his sickly heart, he connected.

The knuckles of his gloved-hand impacted the trickster's jaw squarely.  
Rattling a bit, the clown fell backwards, landing across the field.

"Whoa, whoa whoa! Easy there devil boy." He mocked, falsifying a deep hurt.

The purple man stood unharmed.

"You filth. Why are you still alive, you warthog-faced buffoon?" Vergil questioned, cruelty in his voice.

"Is that how you greet your old friends?" The clown glared deranged, "We _shall_ meet again. Expect no mercy . . ."

"Hey!" Vergil commanded, forcing a blue blade out; however, upon impact, his body popped like a balloon.

A huge burst of confetti fell to the ground.

He stopped, grunting out of miserable pain and placed his hand over his sternum, attempting to calm himself. Was it real?  
Left to question whether the legitimacy of the encounter was genuine, he simultaneously contemplated if the wound was just that severe that he'd hallucinated.  
Whatever the case, the bastard wasn't worth it.

However, Vergil was definitively known for his unforgiving nature, especially to those who betrayed him. The trait created havoc between him and his brother.

This reminded the man of so many unspoken words he had.

All the things he could have said to his brother . . . but he had too much pride to do so.

Perhaps it was a fear that it would just seem like juvenile ramblings, that he would come off as some little child begging for mercy.

Children are weak. _He_ was mighty.

* * *

 **. . . Through the forest came the dark childe, confused, broken, beat and scarred . . .**

* * *

From the get-go, he was already bemused about the nature of this job, and so now, he had confirmed that something definitely strange had occurred here.  
It was the unexplainable, the kind of thing that existed between the pit of his fears and the summit of his knowledge. And now here, in the darkest place he'd been . . .

The fate of his old enemy finally came to light, just when he was growing comfortable in the assertion of his death.

'Dante' made his way back to the other side, where Lucia waited for him with the group. They were unchanged, still grieving and shocked, though less noisy now.

"Thank you, son of Sparda, for clearing up this part for us." She borderline whispered with a soft chuckle.  
"Now we can rebuild borders and bring life back here to these parts. You give me hope for full restoration of the forest in future."

Vergil tried to force a smile, but only wound up smirking awkwardly.

"I could've finished them all, but as you wish. May I ask a question?"

His Dante impression was particularly bad today.

"Go on." Lucia smiled.

"Are you familiar with the name Arkham?"

Lucia was silent at first, flipping the name in her mind for a moment.

"No, I am sorry." She answered and gave him a white envelope, "But, here is your payment. Please spending the night with us, to rest a bit from your troubles."

He naturally let out a subdued chortle of his own, "I can't, but that's . . . Kind of you."

He'd never truly been treated as anything than a dog of society, except by those easily swayed.  
Manipulations held no interest for him, he preferred to govern through strength alone, it was enough.

She seemed disappointed but resigned.

He waved goodbye.

Vergil waited until he was sure no one was there. He gazed up at the dark sky and couldn't see a difference between this and the demon world.  
Something inside him was . . . missing. He couldn't just right out say what it was, since he couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion he was feeling.

But, once he finished that rag-tag group of impure demon-scourge, an incompleteness, a sense of _loneliness_ settled inside of him. It haunted him . . . Corroded him. Choked him.

"You have a sadness clouding your heart, don't you, son of Sparda?"

He kept his hands at the ready but casually neglected to face the voice.  
In fact, it was as though no one had spoken to him at all, he was unchanged.

"Have you come to join my solitude? Or are you just another one of these monsters in disguise?" He said.

An old woman approached him, using an old, rotted walking stick to aid her precarious limp.

"My name is Matier." She replied with a familiar gentleness, "Surely you do not take me for a monster."

'Matier' . . . Mother. Just like his own.  
Vergil let a sadistic smile leak across his face.

"'Mother' . . . A mother is to be _loved_ ," He cocked his head to the left to face her, his troubled face bathed in shadow, "I don't love you."

The words were biting.

"Perhaps not, but you are an honorable man, no?" She told him.

"Perhaps." He replied.

The sounds of nature were all that followed them.

"You think others are monsters . . ." The old woman chuckled, though it wasn't clear if it was the healthy thing to do, "But we are _all_ monsters here, childe."

The man's face grew sullen as he took in her words.

"I suppose that's true. The blood on my hands cannot be washed, just like the mistakes of _you_ and your _people_." Vergil spoke, the words filled with misplaced rage.

She recognized that expression on him.  
The woman had seen it decades earlier.

"Your father had the same look when his comrade died during the days of the great war." Her remark taunted him, corroded him . . .

The half-breed frowned at the mention of his father again, and so he sighed lifeless, "Kindly refrain from sullying Sparda's memory. Sadness is weakness."

"But, even a _devil_ may cry when he loses someone he loves." The old woman replied.

Vergil didn't feel like talking anymore. He raised the back of his hand and signaled her off, then walked away without a word.

As mothers do, she let him go . . . without a word.

He continued until there was another silent, empty clearing within the forest. This one was serene, and somewhat more overgrown than the other patches previously.  
The Cambion gazed behind him one last time to make sure the woman did not follow him. His sharp hearing could not detect her footsteps, or any sound at all.

"Good." He said to himself.

He took a breath and his clothes stretched.

Four wings appeared. He still possessed a humanoid face with glowing, crimson eyes, black downward horns protruded from the sides of his face.  
Sprouting a pair of twin red blades from his forearms, they appeared flowing like a flame, crafted from his own spirit. He grew taller too, the size of him rivaling a bear on it's hind legs.

With the stitching, the wings and other spikes ran in careful alignment of the shoulder blades.  
It did not rip the clothing from Vergil's body, as had his past experiences. But this form did not build off them either.

In the moment before his judgment, he refocused on the matter at hand.

It was good taste in clothing to begin with, he'd give the devil his dues on that point. He propelled himself to the sky.

Vergil hovered in the air until he was high enough to see the wide sea.

He was ready to return home, perhaps continuing this little experiment, however, these recent events shook him.  
It made energy flow through him in this form, and while he was once feeling weak, he had now grown stronger.

* * *

 **. . . Back in the city**

* * *

Bounty-hunter Lady leaned on a crate in the shadows of an adjacent street, almost hidden by the car nearby.  
Her arms were folded across her chest, chin supported by her right hand, and she wore a special necklace her mother made for her as a child.

It alerted her when it came in close contact with a demon. It aids the job occupation.

Her protective cowl attached to her poncho covered her head and shrouded her cheeks. And as the moon dwindled behind the clouds, she stood, silent and still.

It was rare for her to rest her chin like that, especially if she was holding her knife under her sleeve. Which, Lady was. The point of it laid less than an inch from her exposed throat.

She held herself at knife-point.

And why would she do this? After all, even people like her were not immune to accidents. The woman was, however, different.  
Resting her chin on her strongest arm was an act of deception designed to fool enemies – but she also took a dark delight in courting danger.  
It become part of her nature, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. And so she sat with her chin in her hand, on watch, and waited.

In an alleyway not far from Lady lurked a fellow by the name of Joseph, or at least thats the name 'he' gave himself.  
He wore a tattered shooting jacket and a broken straw hat, and he was studying a pocket watch lifted from a gentleman not moments ago.  
Instead of wearing what was neatly made, he stared at it longingly, as if it held some other purpose.

Just anything functional would do for him.

The pocket watch was almost exactly an hour behind true time.

Oblivious to that fact, the man snapped it shut, thinking himself quite the dandy man.  
Next, he eased himself out of the alleyway, looked left and right, then made his way into the dying day of this slowly emptying street.

As he strolled, his shoulders hunched and his hands in his slummy pockets, he glanced over his shoulder to check that he wasn't being followed.

And?

. . . Nothing.

Satisfied, the stranger continued onward.

He lit a cigarette with a match, and rather than put it out, he threw it into an open dumpster. The small light sparked flames and smoke, but he just walked on.  
The man didn't care, he wasn't in the business to understand what a fire that close to a building would do anyway, he was only interested in hedonism.

A thundering bang startled the slovenly rat, but it came from one of the tenements above. He looked up and adjusted his hat back out of his eyes.

Puffing on his cig, he tried to get a good look.

No one stood near him, either on the roofs or behind him.  
Must've been some pour bastard putting a shell in his mouth.

So, he turned to go. In the same moment, the mist ahead of him billowed, and out of it came the eery figure of a woman in a white dress. Her hair was black as ink, it had that consistency too.  
Behind this mop of oil was a warped face that shouldn't have existed. It's eyes glowed ominously blue and a massive, swollen tongue burst from it's mouth.  
It hung down an entire foot from her face, several inches thick, and it drooped acid saliva across the tar ground. The woman herself was sickly, covered in burst pustules and translucent flesh.  
Veins pulsated with black blood and more of these warts continued to break open as the tongue wriggled around, almost uncontrollable.

He stood paralyzed, unable to think or move.

The tab fell from his mouth and danced on the greasy pavement.

And before he could try and break free of this paralysis, the creature lunged at him and it's bony fingers clasped onto his arm, attempting to drag him back into the alley.  
Lord knows what unspeakable horrors it would force on him with that horrible organ in it's mouth. Only, instead of striking out, his assailant loomed it's ugly tongue closer to his face.  
A knife bolted into it's forehead, and suddenly he heard another shot. It tore through the side of it's tongue, macerating a portion of the flapping, oversized thing.

Blood flowed across the cold cement and he stumbled back on his ass. He used his hands to prop himself up.

A hail storm of bullets focused on the throbbing tongue tore it apart completely, and eventually, it fell to the ground lifeless, barely any part of it's head left remaining.

Eventually, it just wore away into a black ooze. A bit of the reflection off the black top invaded his eyes.  
There stood Lady, preventing Joseph from an escape. He looked up and saw her and every alluring bit of her skin.

Humans tasted good.

"Hello, Joseph." She sarcastically smiled, "I need you to answer some questions." She scowled at him, a glint of hatred simmering beneath the surface of her emotionless face.

Those eyes spoke of a personal tragedy, a tail uncensored by the mouth's funny quirks.

"What makes you think I'ma talk?" His accent was ghetto, and his eyes glanced to the right, then left, before he shouted loudly, "Someone help! She's try'na to kill me!"

He unexpectedly zoomed to his feet and booked it for the safety of the light. This man was also demonic, but possessed a clearly defined gender, unlike most.

Lady swept the demon's legs from beneath him and slammed his face to the filthy cobbles.  
She crashed on his haunches and grabbed his shins, pinning the demon in place with pain in his knees.

"Tell me what I want, pain stops: Real simple." She growled, "What do you know about Arkham?"

"I know two things! A: He's dead, and B: He was pretty well endowed, not sure I know- _Ack!_ "

She bared further down on his legs, forcibly pulling them farther back than his human form could bend, and so he stopped talking.  
Then, she used her thighs to flip him over onto his back and slammed her right boot into his chest as she pulled her weapon, Kalina Ann and pressed it's barrel at his face.  
The blade on the bazooka's end touched his cheek and effortlessly sliced his skin open. The pain of it stung, it had been freshly sharpened and consecrated.

It only covered the left side of his face, and he could see her clearly with his right eye still.

"Now, 'little devil,'" Lady grinned, spitefully demeaning him, "Why don't we start over? What do you know about Arkham?"

"All right, all right already! I'll talk," Squirmed the demon, the edge of the attached-bayonet digging further into his flesh. "I-. . . I heard he made a deal with a powerful devil! I don't know his name!"

She dug that blade in so hard that the edge began to saw into his cheek bone. He screeched in horrible, inhuman howls. He had a scream like Joe Pesci, oddly enough.  
Of course, what don't kill ya makes you stronger. Dante knew that better than anybody, and she was responsible for that.  
As a legendary son, he was peculiar target for other demons. It wasn't uncommon that different types cannibalized the overall species.

Maybe he'd grown tired of always having to fight.

And then there was this mongrel she was dealing with. Stupid runt, he'd had a reputation for feasting on the flesh of sick humans.

The deaths, the dope, the guns, the rapes . . . He should die for the pain he's caused.

There were always rumors, but human laws kept her from truly putting an end to him, since he masqueraded as an insane homeless man.  
Further and further the weapon's edge drove through him. Calming himself as much as he could to form full thoughts, he finished his answer.

"Gahheh! D-so, so-so so he could find a way to return among the living! That's all I know _I swear!_ "

She changed her grimace to a smirk of satisfaction and released the blade from his cheek, a deep gash left over.  
As soon as she did, the man's body began to stretch and change, his arms growing abnormally long with claws outstretched and cherub wings from his back.  
Hearing those tendons rip, torn up in him, it quickly lost the illusion of humanity, becoming it's true self.

The creature reached for her with it's grotesque limbs, but Lady barely managed to dash back.

It's head grew deformed, becoming larger and larger, wriggling tentacles growing from it's demonic countenance still 'Joseph's' face no longer remained. Both eye's fused to become one ginormous orb.

She continued to step away, taking measured steps away from the grisly creature as it swiped it's linguini-limbs at her face.

The claws missed her by a strand of hair.

Instead it's hand continued past her and struck the dumpster fire it had caused, clumsily hooking it's malformed paw into the green metal.  
She hefted Kalina Ann upon her shoulder and took aim. It struggled and suffered as it attempted to rip the limb free. The flames spread across it's flesh and it screamed horridly.  
It bayed like a pig, squealing blackened disgrace before coming to sense a shift in the weather.

Turning it's head, 'Joseph' gazed upon that infernal barrel. She pulled the trigger.

Flying forward, the missile tore into it's only eye, and the malevolent creature blew apart in brilliant orange fireballs. Scraps of it's head barely survived.  
From the center, it's detached wings smacked the ground sloppily, boiling blood spurting all around, and then it completely collapsed.

Wreckage was all that was left, and some scrapes on the darkened wall.

"Idiot." She whispered.

A moment of weakness befell her knees, and she heaved a long breath. Dread infected her mind, the thought that she had to go through this again.

Just when she thought her life was coming together, finally moving on and up-up-and-away, she'd inhaled his poisonous breath.

* * *

 **Every time she remembers him, an image of her mother flashes in her mind, her cold corpse laying in the back door way, stabbed and gutted. It wouldn't leave her head.**

 **He'd followed her and delivered the final blunt blow to the head.**

 **There she laid, eye's empty of all human feeling, and her skin was so cold. Blood flowed out across their floor . . . only a loneliness remained.**

* * *

"You bastard . . ." Mary exclaimed, grasping the side her of temples, hopeless, "Why do you refuse to die?"

It settled, all the evidence referenced for his return, but not a normal human. For days, Lady wondered if she should tell Dante about this, but she brushed it off for the last time.  
This was her problem, and she had to take care of it alone. No more would she accept his help, not after so long and all that time spent trying to forget. This was something psychological.  
Perhaps due to the feeling that it was Dante who brought him down in the end, she was left feeling empty, Arkham's broken form screaming no before the shout of her gun cut him off . . .  
There wasn't any satisfaction about it anymore.

One more time, just one more time, she would take back her life.

Lady dusted herself off lazily and returned to her home. The area echoed from the clap of her shoes on those old streets. It was empty. _Every_ thing . . . was empty.

* * *

 **. . . Her mind flashed**

* * *

Lady sat alone and listened to the rain outside.

The living room was cozy and a well-lit a fire crackled in the chimney in front of her.  
The rain droplets drifted down the windows to make the outside look distorted.  
The glow of the lights too seemed brighter than usual behind this cascade.

"Is it about your father?" Her mother asked as she put her arm around her shoulder, curled together on their old woolen couch.

The mention of her father alone brought Mary a serious fright, although she was good about masking her expressions from her mom.  
However, the pounding of her heart would _always_ give her away. It was too loud. So, her mother would always hold her closer.

"Yeah . . . he's not himself anymore! He keeps-. . . reading those books, barely speaking to us," She paused for a moment, "I see the way he looks around, it's like we don't matter. We're _lesser_ than him."

Mary stopped when she felt her mother's warm hand grace her cheek.

"Oh sweetie, don't say that. Your father can be . . . a difficult man. But we have to look past that. He's a good person and he loves you." Her words were so comforting.

But inside, the soothing nature of her mother turned to bitter resentment towards her father.  
Lady grit her teeth. She still loved him, trusting that clear face was still easy. He was just having a problem.

But wait a moment . . .

"What do you mean 'we'?"

"Uhm . . ." Kalina stammered trying to come up for an explanation. It was just a small slip, but so revealing.

* * *

 **. . . She forced her mind to return**

* * *

Then the bastard killed her, just like that.

Using her blood for his dark rituals. If only she had been a little older, maybe, just maybe, she would have been able to stop it.  
It's true, Lady felt partially guilty for her mother's death, the lone survivor of her family still cursed to walk the earth.  
And all of her frustrations were taken out on those ugly daemons that still plagued humanity. The violence kept her sane . . . for a time.

She left her modern leather couch. Walking around this hollow existence that served her, the kitchen was pristine, filled with the newest 'stuff.'

Odd trinkets filled the small cooking area, all of them pointless. They came with the lease somehow, it was a good deal, but she never used any of it.  
Maybe she would start soon. She didn't know. Lady drank some cold water from the sink and she plodded back to the living room a short few feet.

Many people thought that she was a perfectly strong, fearless woman. A bounty hunter to end all bounties. The one who wouldn't let anything get to her, but . . . she never was.  
And she never would be. It was just a mask she used to protect herself, so she wouldn't fall apart. That's how it was, that was what let her pull the trigger, putting that bullet into her dad's skull.  
Hunters like her are the rusted knights of this city today. But, that was too short-lived to even have the time to adjust to it.

She had to take care of him one more time- one _last_ time. Enough is enough.

According to her sources, there was no area where he lurked specifically, he seemed to just 'come and go' as he pleased around various old stomping grounds.

Making a deal with some demon . . . Who was that? Why had he come back now? There wasn't anything for him here anymore, but that didn't matter, she supposed.  
If he was back anyway, she would kill him and she would relish every moment, the time for crying was over. Whatever he was planning, he would _fail_.  
Somewhere, he was lurking, and somewhere, she would find him. It would be different now. He was still only human through it all, but that was back then.

This time, he would be returned as a full-blood, a devil of uncompromising nature.

In the moment, to herself, she pondered over giving all her weapons a proper cleaning. It'd been a while, her mother's weapon notwithstanding.  
She knew that everything was still in the best shape it was . . . This was more of a battle against certain compulsions. Though human, darkness followed her too.

If the bullets are the proper type, the ordinance to blow away the larger targets and such-

It ran through her mind again and again, the list of methods and what she'd learned through experience. She'd come farther than any other human could.  
Lady checked the weapons stored in her belts one more time, for she had many, and before she chose to go out in the street she grasped her beretta's.  
She'd probably hunt for more, just to calm her nerves.

There were a few places she had in mind.

Going to the front door, this time, the woman chose a pair of black tennis shoes, perfect for walking around. Her boots used to cause her heel-pain after a while, but she got used to them.

They may not be practical for everyone, but she loved them anyway, they fit her style. Lady took a deep breath one more time, sighing to try and destress herself. She held the key and turned.

The scarred maiden wandered carefully.

Alone in a deathly silent street, everybody inside their homes, away from the recent rain, she jogged.  
With the expectation of the occasional pedestrian with an umbrella, it was a virtual ghost town.  
She rounded right toward a residential district, where a certain variety of demons usually roamed.

There were lots of empty storage units and an old block of abandoned homes that were rusted by the adjacent sea. The walk didn't seem long since she stared at the sky as she went.

Without her boots, she could how tan she'd gotten overall since those early days. There was barely a visible line there anymore.

The rain drops occasionally fell on her cheek, leaving that unmistakable smell around her. She saw the beach in the distance. The night air appeared to be quite welcoming now.  
Several star clusters were on display for her to see, since there was no light by the ocean, and the rest was covered with clouds. This gave the sky a unique, reddish-cyan tone. It was beautiful.  
Usually, when out patrolling, the stars served as omens. That was what local folklore tended to ascribe anyway, that something evil was soon on the horizon.

She hoped so hard it wasn't. That was the last thing anyone needed right now.

And here Lady was anyway, on a normal, uneventful day, feeling paranoid. Frazzled. Alone. Losing sleep.

The sand gave way beneath her other foot. These boots were smoother, more comfortable.

It begged the question why she didn't just wear these, though they lacked the heels of her other pairs.  
Without them, she was a good deal noticeably shorter, though still taller than the average height of a woman.

The cool night breeze of the water flew through her black hair, and thankfully the wind was calm. She removed her shoes from her feet and placed her toes in the damp sand.

The woman laid down without much care: clothing could be cleaned.

Lady shut her eyes, allowing her troubled soul to relax and enjoy the breeze. She could hear the waves roll along the shore, peppering her soft soles with foam every time the tide broke.

She stayed like this for a long, long time.

After the symphony of the night had settled in, her serenity was interrupted.

Deep in her chest, she sensed something wasn't right. She pulled herself up to sit and gazed around. She wasn't sure how long she zoned out but it must not've been very long.  
The new dawn's light could be seen in the distance. It was strange. She was seriously tired but couldn't sleep, there was too much going on inside her head right now. She was drawn to the emptiness.  
To this very day, she continued to imagine what her life could have been, what everyone's lives might have been like, if her father had just never become fascinated with Sparda.

She leaned forward and rested her chin on her knees, wrapping her arms around her bare shins.

With those moody eyes, Lady stared out into the bleak horizon, not wondering what was beneath those black waters, but wondering what was out beyond those clouds.

Where had _her_ Dante gone? Why wasn't he around anymore?  
Instead, there was that stranger who sat at his desk, wearing his face.

Why couldn't he have just stayed here? With her . . .

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, I hope you liked this. I want to give Lady more focus as I view her as very important character, and kind of the anchor to Dante's modern persona.  
So I'm taking a look at her personality more deeply, what she's like behind closed doors, her feelings about her past and so on and so forth. I think it fits for her and it's interesting.  
I hope you all agree with me here, lol**

 **Song used for inspiration was: Can't Sleep - by Kryptic Minds. UK electronica artist, pretty good influence for the darker ominous feel of dark empty streets, and it's sung by a girl.  
So it's kinda perfect for Lady's mindset here, and I really tried to capture the darkness inside of her mind by upping the intensity of what she's feeling and thinking.**

 **Anyways, thank you!**

 **And thank you Angel Wolf for helping me :)**


	5. Chapter 5 Symptoms

**Chapter 5 ~ Symptoms**

* * *

The sun had risen across the city, painting the jagged skyline in shades of gold and sapphire.  
Winding shadows on the blacktop snaked through the remaining neighborhoods, surrounded by mountains that towered into the cloudless sky, stretching toward the first faint glimmers of the sun.  
That soon changed, as, slowly, clouds gathered. Vergil might have appreciated the view a bit more if he wasn't so goddamn tired.

Physically and mentally.

He'd made it to Dante's shop, sure, but he'd been wondering how he might continue down this path. He had no exit plan.

 _Becoming_ his brother, stealing his life and answering his calls; as if the two of them were one. Could he really make it? At least for sometime.

The mercenary kept walking under a reticent sun, half-shrouded by a silky gray screen of moisture; he was actually glad to be back in a city.  
Despite the severe uncertainty and frustration, it felt right to be here. There was an odd feeling of pointlessness to the places he'd been before.  
A big bustling city didn't have that sense of emptiness.

"It was clear just half an hour ago." Vergil whispered.

Surprised that a change in the weather would make him wonder, it occurred to him, had it been _that_ long since he left the human world?

It had. There was no trace of the tower at all, or was that a different city? He didn't really know anymore. It all kind of blended together.

At the same time, Vergil pondered of what his younger twin did during his free time.

The red mercenary's black boots echoed in the empty streets. Both Vergil's hands explored the coat pockets to discover it had a leather finish that served to offer some protection.  
He smirked to himself at how Dante would dedicate so much to personal comfort above cost. His bangs drifted over his left eye, so he blew them out of the way. They revealed a sight he recognized.

The neon lights of Dante's studio.

Home.

His double doors creaked open as the humble dark-interior office somberly resonated with him. The chestnut wood flooring and the lack of overall furniture didn't help at all though.  
Vergil figured that the next time he got paid, he would get something to decorate the place. Where had all of Dante's usual trappings gone? He expected at least a pool table or chairs.

Perhaps a replacement jukebox.

Maybe get something that spoke of the ole 50's? No way.

Dante would never want something so dull. So if _he_ wouldn't, neither should Vergil.

But this place needed to look more professional. Maybe some signed posters of some obscure rock bands?  
Perhaps, for that indie 'cred.' Oh! He could swap out music in the jukebox for something that matched.  
Vergil skimmed through the possibilities as he brushed his red coat off his shoulders, revealing a long-sleeved black shirt beneath. He then removed the full-laced leather gloves.

The light of the sun illuminated everything inside . . .

With nothing else to stare at, he crashed onto the chair and placed his head upon his arms, across the desk.  
His body felt tired and heavy, a little too abnormal for someone like him. He was always in shape, the stand-up-and-fight type, hold that prideful stance like it really means something.  
But not this time. Maybe it felt strange because he actually _could_ rest, whereas before . . . -Injuries need time to fully heal, perhaps someone like him wasn't an exception after all.

Vergil contorted his face to a vexed expression. He was frustrated.

The humiliation he went through would not soon be forgotten.

It rung in his head, he the loser, who so fell before the likes of Dante.

'I will make all demon's pay if I cannot ever fight you again. I wanted to beat you . . . with my own hands.'

His eyes caught the sight of Sparda's sword, still in its pure form, hanging there. The power he always desired right there before him. He stood up and walked to it.

Vergil's sight lingered here, wondering what destruction he could sow with it's terrible power. With this, he had within arm's length the object of his ultimate desire, _power_.

But . . . he couldn't bring himself to use it.

Something stopped him.

Why did he feel like this now? Why didn't he feel free of the burden and shame that hung on his shoulders?  
Couldn't he be proud of the fact that the sword and all it's might could be his to claim, for now and forever?

It was all he ever searched for, years and years of research and knowledge, hatred fueling his charred heart to scavenge on and on for the answer to his dilemma.

And yet, this would never, ever, at all replace what he had lost in return.

Dignity.

Might controls everything, and without strength, you cannot protect anything, let alone yourself.

Right . . . ?

Vergil slowly turned and felt his bones ache ever so subtly. He decided to stretch himself out, straightening up as he heard several cracks and pops out of his joints.  
For now, he made up his mind to hide the weapon somewhere here, somewhere within the shop, to be safe from anyone who might try to steal it . . .  
Come to think of it, that might be why there's not much furniture. Although he did see some peculiar burn marks on the walls. Nothing a little labor wouldn't fix.  
Anyway, the Cambion never took reckless chances. The front door was without a key, and so he was not sure how 'safe' it really was yet.

It's just so foreign to him.

Dante would've been ready for anything that would impede his path, that much he knew.

Vergil, however, couldn't decide if this irritating recklessness is what was at the core of his brother, or maybe he was protecting himself with some spell.  
There's just _no way_ , he could _not_ be that reckless! Vergil touched the hilt and felt a shiver run down his spine. For a moment, his eyes stared at the reflection in the red jewels.  
Their perfect amulets united at the hilt, just behind the metal of the great blade.

'Even a _devil_ may cry when he loses someone he loves.' The old woman's words rattled his mind nonstop. 'Your father had the same look when his comrade died during the days of the great war."

"No, I'm not sad." He shamed himself.

At that, he left the room looking to explore the other parts of Dante's shop.

* * *

 **Between life and death, there's never been certainty, but for the grey twin, he walks both their paths as one now, the Lavender Road**

* * *

A cold sweat dripped upon her head. Not the sweat of a workout, or the sweat of running, but sweat from anxiety.

Her heart pounded like a drum. She flickered her eyes uncontrollably.  
Was it there? The girl thought she saw something moving, b-but-. . . !

It was just her imagination.

Then it was there again. Winding around in the darkness . . . looking at her. She wiped her eyes so she could see straight.

Suddenly, something creaked in the small room, it made her heart bolt twenty beats. She felt that she wasn't alone.  
Two shadows collided in front of her eyes and created something new. A pair of yellow, discordant orbs stared her down.

Tears streamed down her face.

"No!" She screamed and ran away, her blonde hair lost in the dark.

The girl didn't care about where she was going. Her life is the goal here.  
Running outside, her legs led her to an exposed dumpster nearby.  
Against her better judgment, she chose to jump in and hide. Thankfully, there was nothing in it.

The metal of the dumpster was fairly clean, all thing's considering, though there was an indeterminate stain on the opposite side of the bunker. She chose not to sit near it.

Just hide. Hide for now, until it's safe to leave and return-. . . It was still the early morning, so there weren't many people up and about yet.

The girl brought her knees close to her chest and held them with her crossed arms. Breath caught in her throat, the dread choking her like a thick fog, blocking all rational thought.  
Her boots remained rooted to the spot, unwilling to move. The only thing she could hear was her own breathing, which came in shallow gasps. She never felt this way before.

So, she clasped her hand over her mouth in the hopes it would silence the noise.

Now all she could hear was her heart beating.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

It kept on drumming irregular, like an amphetamine was pumping through her system.

Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump thump-thump-thump-thump- _thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump_ ** _THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP  
THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP_**.

 _It._

 _Wouldn't._

 _Stop._

Seconds went by, like long, painful hours. No young girl can keep living under this pressure, faced with absolute reality in the darkness.  
Her heartbeat became her worst enemy, filling her ears, rocking through her head and shaking her soul. The incessant pulse served a reminder of her impossible situation.  
And yet it was still happening.

Her voice broken, she whispered, "Why me?"

"Patty!" A smooth, friendly male voice called out to her, "Are you in there? It's okay."

The girl's face brightened as she jumped out and ran toward the source of the voice.

"Martin!" She embraced him in tears, "Someone's been following me."

She cried uncontrollably, terrified of her surroundings, feeling trapped under ice.  
Freezing out of her mind and body, she grasped onto the man for any kind of solace he could offer.  
She didn't know how to live through this.

Patty felt the man take hold of her shoulders and kneel down to look at her, "What's going on? Why are you out at this hour?"

She wiped her eyes and tried to think of what to say.

"I was- I thought I heard-. . ." She stuttered, "Never mind."

Something about the way Martin would scan his surroundings with his eyes put within her a comforting warmth, as if he could see everything.  
Patty looked to the ground ashamed. She felt like a fool. It was a s though the monster chasing her simply 'vanished.'

"Is-. . . Was there someone chasing you?" He asked her.

"I-. . . No. Not a man." She said.

". . . We have to go home, now." Martin put his hand on her shoulder to lead her away quickly.

"Okay."

Patty Lowell was nine years old, but a free thinker. She was greater than her contemporaries at the orphanage out in the countryside.  
The city was no place to raise young children. The two found Martin's car and drove off for quainter pastures. The orphanage wasn't too close to where she had been.  
Martin had seen her run out, alone. Why had she chosen to run away?

And how had she ended up so far out here? Whatever had happened, it was not natural.

As soon as they parked, her chest fluttered. Hoots and cheers suddenly abounded, the sleeping crowd fully awakening and aware.  
Rapidly, reporters and cameramen from a few multimedia agencies pushed and prodded at each other, nearly stomping over themselves to get at her.

Half stood, and the other half just had to sit to get a better view of the girl.

"There she is! Lucky child," And their cameras started flashing over and over. Martin held the girl close to him and started moving faster and faster.

The fact that she'd gone missing had caused quite a stir, even after what had already happened to her.

"Go home, all of you. She doesn't need this!" He shouted and rushed the front mahogany door. The young blonde fell inside, but she didn't wait for a moment.

"What's going on?" She bombarded him with more questions as two women waited to close the door.  
Beyond the front room stood a desk, and behind that sat a middle-aged man. He was wearing a grey suit and a hat.

Next to him was a woman with short blonde hair, more yellow than Patty's, welcoming the young girl with a smile.

The handler of the orphanage left her desk, with a gentle smile gracing her face. Nothing good would come of this, the girl felt. And she was right.

"Patty, there you are. Oh dear, I hate to see you leave, but it's for the best."

"What!?"

"Ahem!" Morrison cleared his throat, "Miss Lowell, my name is Morrison. It's nice to meet you." The man came forward. "This might seem sudden but . . .  
 _You_ are the heiress of the recently departed Morgan Lowell. I was called here to escort you to another man, a good friend of mine. He can get you to your new home safely."

"Uh, my new home?" The young girl replied.

"Ah yes." He unfolded a document and checked it over, "If I'm reading this correctly, yes, you're new home. You've inherited a mansion."

Patty was breathless. A mansion? She had to process what she just heard.

A home of her own? An heiress?

"Are you serious?" Patty blinked several times while she absorbed the information. Much of what happened earlier felt as though whatever questions she had were ignored.

"My dad?" She blinked, " . . . He died?"

"Oh sweetie," The middle-aged woman came to her, "I know that must be a hard pill to swallow."

"Actually," Patty placed her hand on the woman's shoulder, "I'm not that hurt. I barely knew him."

"Ah, er- right. I'm sorry." She said.

"No, it's okay. Thank you for worrying about me. Thank you for _always_ worrying."

The woman smiled at the young girl, "It was always my pleasure."

"Well, he's only open a certain amount of time, we should be going soon." Morrison chimed in.

The young girl looked over to the mustached man and stayed still for a moment before nodding her head.  
Her caretaker had so much left to say, but this was as good a send off as anyone deserved, a warm hug and a kiss on the forehead.

"I'm going to miss you, honey. Go on now, don't forget about us, okay?"

Patty felt tears threaten to roll down her cheeks again, this time out of lost companionship.

"I won't I promise." And the two hugged one another.

Finally, when they parted, Morrison came for her and held onto her hand. They started walking together out the front door.  
Patty gazed back at those she'd grown up with one last time. The trio of women waved goodbye, and one of them blew her a kiss.

"When I open that door, we run to the car." Morrison told her.

Though anxious, she was ready, "Yes."

With a stilted breath, the man pushed the wooden barrier open and, immediately, shouts filled the air.

"Miss Lowell what can you tell us?"

"Over here, just one picture please!"

"How does it feel to change from an orphan girl to a millionaire?"

"Miss Lowell, can we get an exposé on the conditions of the orphanage?"

"Is there a connection between your escape-attempt and the recent passing of your biological parent?"

Several of the orphanage staff stood in the way of the crowd. The constant flashes of light made it difficult for her to walk in a straight line.  
Martin and Morrison shoved journalists out of the way and kept her close. Patty kept her head low and darted toward the light blue car with her friends.  
Her handler opened the door, and she jumped in.

Photographers gathered around Martin as he walked around to the driver's seat.

"No comment." He scowled at them before entering his car. The subsequent drive was mostly silent. Patty rested her head against the window and observed the ever-changing street.

It was hypnotic to watch the transformation of greenery to concrete and all the lights that came with it, and so she eventually began to fall asleep.  
Visions clouded her mind, vague hints of the past and it's many doorways to her present. Her mind circled around one though in particular.

"Mommy?" She whispered half-awake.

The girl wanted nothing more than to know the truth of what happened to her. Why was she left behind?  
Why wasn't she good enough to be loved? Knowing now of her relation to a wealthy man was even more confusing.

Eventually, a second car began following closely. She recognized Morrison as the driver when his vehicle passed theirs.

Lost in contemplation, she didn't even realize the ride was over till Martin opened her door.

"We're here." The man said.

Patty opened the door and stared at the building before her.  
The neon sign flickered ever so often with the logo of a woman holding two guns.

"Devil May Cry?" she said loud enough for both men to hear.

"Yep. Come on in." Morrison invited the child inside as he walked the steps to the front door, Martin following behind.

"Whatever you see, whatever you hear from the man who lives here, don't take it to heart. It's just the way he is." The man explained before opening the door.

The first sight anyone saw was Dante settling on the chair with his arms crossed.  
He looked different than she expected, his silver hair catching her eye off-guard.

"Morning Dante. I have a very special job for you." The middle-aged agent spoke casually.

Patty entered with a small smile on her face and waited for the man to say something.

"Yes?" He replied simply.

Morrison was silent for a moment, a bit surprised by the complete lack of reaction. Maybe it was just a slow start to the day.

"Got ourselves a Cinderella, she's the heiress to the Lowell-fortune. Handlers for the estate have hired you through me to protect her on her way to her knew home." Dante's manager said.

He was confident in the appeal of the job to Dante. It wasn't often he turned down easy jobs like this.  
One would have to be explicitly dumb to turn down money like this, and this particular merc never was.

And yet, 'Dante' did not respond. He didn't even speak. His face retained a perpetually pinched look, and his eyes were freezing.

He stared at the girl then returned his gaze to the man before him.

"All apologies, but no," He shook his head, " _My_ job is to investigate any strange entities that create problems in the world. I do not babysit."

Patty's felt worried suddenly. Any sense of security was immediately erased.  
She came closer to the desk and placed her left hand on the surface, "B-But it's not just babysitting. For the past three days, I've been haunted by a strange . . . thing."

The man in red leaned forward and crossed his hands, resting his chin on both as he appeared to suddenly freeze up.  
'Dante' clenched his body as though he were experiencing pain and he stared at her with an unknown observation on his mind.

After a moment, he said, "What kind of strange thing?"

"Wha-" She was taken aback by his question, "Uh, u-hmm-uh . . . W-well, sometimes I hear someone calling me, and when I try to find the voice . . . I see just shadows.  
I can't make out what they look like, I'm too afraid to. Sometimes I get a strange feeling in my eyes, followed by this feeling like I'm just floating in water.  
Right in front of my bed I see something red with yellow eyes, watching me when I try to fall asleep. I think-. . ." She struggled to finish that sentence, "I-I . . . I think-"

Morrison spoke up, "Hey, just relax. You're in safe hands now."

"Thank you." She said, looking back at him for a moment before returning to Dante, "I . . . think it _wonders_ what it wants to do to me, planning it out.  
I don't know what it is. It's just there . . . and it knows my name. It scratched it into my bed-frame at the orphanage. Please . . . please, please, please help me." She nearly cried.

The warble in her voice was so prevalent it almost seemed as though it were going to give out.

He sighed to himself.

"Right. Do you have a scar on your right arm?" Dante said.

Patty rubbed her forehead for a moment.

"Ye-yes." Reluctantly, she lifted her sleeves and showed her forearm to him.

Near her elbow, there was a long, spindly crack of dark lines.

"Miss Lawlor,"

"Lowell." Morrison corrected.

"Lowell, if they didn't bring you to me, you would have been in serious trouble." He left the chair and came around to her.

Kneeling down, he examined the scar more closely, telling her, "You're marked. And it will not stop. It will never, ever stop until it catches you, judging by the size of it. Your description also matches."

"What description is that?" Morrison asked for her, confused.

"A child of influence, one who is heir to a prominent power."

That didn't really sound anything _like_ Dante, and yet Dante just spoke those words.  
Morrison scratched his head, but he rolled with it. He was willing to see if Dante had changed since that last job overseas or wherever he'd gone.  
Patty just stood there watching him, mouth half-gaping. The dark slayer touched her forehead.

"You have a fever as well. Rest on the couch."

'Dante' tilted his head and signaled her to move.

Vergil caught something in the girl's face for a moment; he could swear red color flashed inside her cheeks before nodding her head and walking over to the couch.  
Curious. He knew then for sure what it was. The only question was, would _she_ be ready to confront it? To confront her worst possible nightmare?

And reliably, Morrison pulled 'Dante' aside.

"What was that all about?" Morrison questioned him, weirded out. This was not Dante's style by any means, so he eyed his partner carefully.

"What?" Dante shrugged, "This is the job."

Well, that was a little more like it, he guessed. The red mercenary went past his agent to the desk. "I'll take her later on, but she can't leave at the moment, not until I figure out who marked her."

Morrison rubbed his temple.

Dante was a tough one to figure out. "Are you feeling well today, partner? Seems like you're . . . strange."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Now give me the address. We can't waste any time." Dante took out the notepad and pulled a pen off his desk.

Morrison shrugged, "Alright."

And he gave the man what he asked, a simple series of words and numbers that were ultimately meaningless.  
Still, he supposed that it wasn't any better than hell's zip codes. Because there weren't any. So they were even.

"Have they sent the payment?" Dante asked as he set the pen down.

"Hm? Yeah, five grand, then twenty more when this is over. I'm countin' on you." He gave a small brief wave goodbye, "She's gotta be home by tomorrow night. You have a two-day deadline."

'Dante' nodded back to him.  
And so they understood each other.

"Goodbye and good luck, Patty." The man said on his way out.

Once the door closed, awkward silence fell between those left. Dante sat back on the chair and looked down at the paper he'd written the address on.

"I know about demons." Patty broke the silence, "You don't have to hide it from me."

'Dante' stared at her, not letting any emotion creep to the surface. He didn't say anything at first.  
Why would a human child know about this? The world's going to perdition, he supposed.

"A child like you shouldn't have to be subjected to something beyond their understanding." He commented.

She glowered at him, "Really?"

The man looked back at her sternly, but then thought better of it.

"One of the many things I hate the most is dishonorable means to achieve something, cheating; you just happen to be the subject of such a method."

The person should own up to what they did, and pay the price for it.  
Ideology that the eldest son of Sparda truly believed in.

". . . You're cool." She told him.

"Uh, thank you." The man replied, unsure how to take it.

"My first name is Patty. Don't forget that either, okay?"

Dante avoided looking at her and just returned to check the things upon the desk. Praise from a human? that's a first.

"I have to be home soon." Patty said.

He looked back up at her and chuckled under his breath.

"Don't fear." He replied, "You'll get there, one way or another."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, I hope you liked this. Please leave a review with your thoughts.**

* * *

 **Nothing much to say on this, it was one way and now it's better, way better I think. Hope you enjoyed it! :)**


	6. Chapter 6 Cronos

**It's been a long time, sorry. I had some writer's block issues..Well I hope you will love this.**

 **Chapter 6 - Cronos**

* * *

"Keep going, now!" Lady shouted and the driver hit the gas, whipping the military car around a tight corner as gunfire thundered through the cold, Maine night.  
Lady had spotted the two huge demons only a moment before, which had barely given her enough time to get ready for this.

They were damn near colossal, and red skinned. Basalt spikes adorned their chins and forehead, while their wings appeared singed off.  
No doubt, a few missiles were responsible for the grounding.

Whoever was on their ass - the local cops - it didn't matter, it was the only way for them to survive.

"Get us to cover! Over there!" Lady called, somehow managing to sound cool and controlled even as the bullets of her weapons boomed through the air.

Lady felt scattered, her thoughts racing and jumbled; she kicked ass on every job she took, but she was still disturbed by the information she gathered on her father.  
Her mind was occupied and she couldn't help it.

It had been too long since the bounty hunter felt such a rush in the early morning. The explosion of metal and shattering glass behind them was so close that Lady's heart skipped a beat.  
She turned, looked out the back with the others, and saw that one of the monsters had crashed into a car. It had been in their way, though luckily, the driver swerved.

They themselves had probably come within a second or two of bashing into the vehicle, and she would probably have fallen off from the force.

She caught just a glimpse of a crumpled hood, of broken windows and a stream of oily smoke. She leveled Kalina Ann out the side like a turret again and started firing shot after shot in their way.

Shrieking around the corner, the chase continued.

"Sorry 'bout that!" the man called back to her, sounding anything but calm; he seemed wired with adrenaline-pumped glee. She'd discovered that he would make jokes about pretty much anything.  
It was simultaneously his most likable and most annoying trait. Reminded her a bit of her other partner, Dante and his ways.

"Brace yourself for the impact. Mister John, just past the next turn, bring us to a stop. Hit and run, alright?" Lady told him sharply.

Their pursuant creatures screeched and jumped forward, drawing closer to the car.

She did her best to slow them with her weapon.

John was pumping the accelerator while mounting up for a stop. These mindless beasts were about to get hit by about a ton and a half of fast-moving steel.

Lady inhaled and exhaled deeply, relaxing her muscles as best she could. The squeal of the brakes came up fast from behind and . . .

Wham.

Violent motion, a sense of incredible vibration, a second that seemed to stretch for an endless and silent eternity . . . and the noise coming immediately after.  
A cracking windshield and the sound of a tin can being crushed amplified a million times.  
Lady was jerked forward and back, hearing John emit a strangled gasp. She pressed those thick legs down in a squat and jumped off the car, dragging him along.

The demons cycled with their strange legs at full speed.

Both entities collided with the jostling hunk of metal, with the double impact catapulting them over the car.

From below, Lady smirked cockily and hefted Kalina Ann on her shoulder again, firing the missile. It rocketed out, flying directly towards them. It missed, flying slightly past both, right between them.  
Indeed, the savages weighed a significant amount, as their velocity carried the vehicle above over their backs in a triple flip. The gas tank was exposed.

So the rogue projectile didn't go far, crashing behind the ferocious duo.

Firstly, jagged metal contorted and detonated outward, impaling themselves into the demonic flesh instantly.  
Secondly, a swirling ball of concussive flames erupted around it's targets.

Ensnared, they writhed around as their blood boiled them alive, bursting from the skin as it bubbled and popped.  
At once, they cooked into a sickening miasma, painting the inferno a dazzling blue and red, almost burning it's light brighter than any normal fire.

Mixed in were their final cries. Smothering the skies, it hissed like someone put a gaggle of live snakes in a blender.

It was like a twisted marriage of the beatific and the horrific.

The remains sailed on and on, collapsing some ways away.

Lady lowered her weapon and sighed.

"That was amazing, it's been awhile since I took a thrilling job."

However, her client felt differently, as he was slumped over the bushes near her. Vomit covered the ground and flecks of it dotted his face and shirt.  
The man lazily brushed this off, annoyed by it more than anything.

"You're a brute, Lady." He mumbled the words. "Who would date you?"

Slowly he raised his hand with a cash.

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, I take that as a compliment. You'll live longer if you don't say things like that."

Laughing, she took her payment and walked away, somewhere close to happy.

The truth is, Lady didn't think much about dating.

It's never been an issue.

She liked her life the way it was . . . at least for now. Perhaps someday she'll meet someone worth her time.  
Not the current batch of losers; they couldn't handle a tough . . . Well, a tough Lady.

Her happy expression darkened.

She remembered her dream last night. Worrying about a dream is just dumb, but what pulled her back to this one was a solitary reason.

Him.

. . .

A bright light appeared. So lustrous, she had never seen anything like it before.

Then, she was falling. The sudden rush of air came from nowhere. The glow went out, and all around her was pitch black; all she could do was hold onto herself.

A familiar, cacophonous laugh punctured her eardrums. " **Time for bed Mary! _You can visit your dear mother._** "

"You bastard!" She screamed as hard she could. But there was nothing she could do to defend against it. From beyond, in some place that was nowhere, a hand grabbed onto her and pulled her up.

She stood on solid ground, shivering. Once her vision cleared, there was a royal blue coat in front of her, worn by a man with swept back, silver hair.

"Vergil?" The woman whispered to herself.

The Devil looked back at her, tilting his head to the side slightly. With barely a smile, he drew Yamato, charging forward to the silhouette of a clown.

The man rocketed forward with barely restrained contempt.

. . .

What made her think about him all of sudden? The eldest son of Sparda has been dead for almost a decade now. Not to mention it was for the best. They put a crazy out of his misery so he wouldn't do anymore damage . . . Poor Dante.

She took a left, ready to head back to the city. Ready to be home.

"The sword, that must be it." She talked aloud to herself. "I saw Dante using it. Must have played with my mind, that's all."

Anything to reassure herself now would be greatly appreciated.

Her cellphone started ringing loudly, startling the woman out of her head.  
She took a deep breath in, allowing herself a moment to breath, and then exhaled. She removed the device from her pocket.

The screen displayed a name that made her smile a bit.

She answered, bringing the phone to her ear. "What's up Dante? If you're calling for a job I ha-"

"-I'm not Dante." On the other end, a small girl's concerned voice interrupted her. "Are you his friend? You have to come to the office, something's wrong with him!"

She was immediately unnerved, something wasn't right.

"Wait, what? What do you mean, who is this!?" Lady asked, her back tingling.

"My name's Patty. He was hired to protect me, but-" The little girl paused. "Please, please come."

"O-Okay, sit tight! I'm on my way." Lady answered, confused and worried.

. . .

Vergil's head hurt for awhile.

He'd been half-dreaming, remembering things, reliving parts of his history out of order, until the faraway sound of thunder surged through his skull, pulling him closer to wakefulness.  
The man dreamt about his actions over the past two days. Even though an almost-conscious part of him knew it was reality, it still seemed too incredible to be true.  
Flashes of what had happened, post-Mallet Island, kept rising to the surface. Images of the demon lord and his strict rules, his clever ways to control, had stalked him through the devastation.

Mundus was vindictive being. So he often put Vergil through the most horrifying torture, and demeaned him through lowly tasks or objectives that were purposefully beyond his reach.  
Memories of his childhood tormenting him; meeting Dante again after so long. He'd long been hoping to be killed and freed from this slavery.

Thunder again, louder. He realized something was wrong.

But couldn't seem to wake up, to stop himself from remembering.

First, he was tired, and his bones ached often.  
Secondly, he was freezing now, and his head throbbed, yet he didn't know why.

What happened?

When did he fall asleep to begin with?

He concentrated, but it would only come in pieces, pictures and thoughts plucked from the day. He couldn't seem to control their flow.  
It was like watching a movie in a dream, every still jerkily edited.  
Images of Dante's corpse saddled in his arms, walking in that forest with Lucia, the voice of his mother telling him it's going to be okay, and his sense to cry right at that moment.

No. That was _not_ normal. Something demonic did this to him. And he knew just who to blame. It's that bastard's effect...Now that he remembered.

"You alright, Dante?" He heard a feminine voice. A bit deep, but friendly.

He opened his eyes.

There she was again, Arkham's spawn. She looked down upon him, something that instantly got under his skin.

"I told you! He'd been like this for almost half an a hour." He heard that little girl's voice. It was filled with concern. What was her name again? Patricia? Pamela? Partition? Patty. That was it.

A second later, he felt a smooth hand graze his forehead.

"Come on, say something here, rockstar. Is this also a new thing?" Mary spoke to him again. The devil huntress couldn't hide her confusion once she returned to this place.

Dante wasn't the same anymore.

He bit his lip and forced himself to a sitting position. Grunting into a sigh, he said, "I'm fine. I just needed a nap is all."

"No you're not, you look pale!" Lady argued.

"I'm always pale! Get off my back, would ya?" He'd become a little more adept at impersonation, it seemed. Vergil's eyes then drifted to Patty.

"It's almost time. You better get ready to leave, so pack for anything. But, I warn you. It's gonna be a tough road."

Patty's eyes glowed slightly, before she nodded. "Yes sir." He still commanded plenty of respect despite his persona's reputation. So she ran off to do so, leaving them to their devices.

Lady slammed her hand over the desk, angry at her would-be partner. "Stop ignoring me."

'Dante's' face plunged into a frown. "What do you want from me, Mary? I'm doing my-"

The mention of the name once again sent her over the edge. She rounded over the desk and grabbed him by the collar. "You dare say it again!? What is wrong with you? I fucking told you to never say that again! You may be powerful but I'll put you underground for that, _I swear to god_!" She spat at him, absolutely livid.

"Mention my name again and we're done. We'll settle it with a fight." Her voice inhabited something fierce.

Vergil grabbed her hands roughly, to where she could feel her wrists flare up in pain. He was staring at her unblinking; a challenge.

A reaction she never expected from him.

"Do you really think I'm going to tolerate that behavior from you? Do you!? You're sadly mistaken, now either leave or stop whining. _You stupid, little girl._ " He answered her fury with his own sneer. Deep down, he held back the urge to disintegrate her.

He could at least deal with humans now, as much as he needed to . . . But never, would he ever, tolerate disrespect. That much was something he could never do, even if he tried.

Why would Dante even think of allowing this human to disregard him so? Why would he lower himself and take it? Or was he that desperate to be . . . _accepted_ by her?

"What did you just call me?" She replied softly.

"You heard me. Are you that much of a coward that you'd abandon your own name? What a soldier you are, really." He was watching her, mocking her; his lips moved to a smirk.

He couldn't help it.

"What?" Rage flushed her face, her hand still hanging in the air under his grip.

"If you were true to who you are, you would announce it proudly: _I_ am Mary, Arkham's daughter. _I'm_ still standing and stronger than ever. But I suppose he broke your spirit, didn't he? You're weak.  
What are you running from? Does anyone know?"  
He shook his head, disappointed, and let go of her hands. By the expression etched on her face, he'd pushed her into silence.

It seemed to be the first time someone had confronted her about this.

Lady's eyes stared into his blackened pupils. A tear fell from her eye onto his umber desk. She let out an angry shout as she slapped him across the face.

Her hand damn near broke.

It appeared to barely affect him, as he quickly looked back at her with that same vendetta.

Vergil scoffed at her, and so went to grab his artillery. He went passed her, and though he hesitated when he looked at it, he took Dante's black guitar case.  
He strode to the front door, where he waited for the little girl. Eventually, five minutes went by and she exited his upstairs, a cute little suitcase in hand.  
The man greeted her like an estranged parent, then pulled something from the side of the double door entrance.

It was a black umbrella. "Alright. You ready?" He asked, to which she responded with an enthusiastic, affirmative nod.

He gave her his very first smile and lightly grabbed her hand. "Okay then, lets go, Miss Lowell." He spoke.

Opening the front door, they stepped out into the cold rain. He quickly opened the large parasol.

Patty silently felt his cold skin against hers.  
She didn't quite understand why he felt this way to her.

"Are we going to walk?" She asked. The duo stepped down the gothic stairs, and down onto the sidewalk.

"I'm afraid so. There's no other choice. So, for your safety . . ."

Patty swallowed a lump in her throat, worried.

The sound of the water drops against the umbrella were akin to Uzi bullets striking concrete.  
She took out her necklace once again and opened the pendent to see her precious picture that she'd kept over the years. Her though process was that perhaps this would comfort her during this tough time.

"Is that a picture of your mother?" Dante asked.

Her head shot up, almost forgetting that he was even there. The grey skies clouded the city's appeal from her.

"Yes." She answered. "I don't- . . . I can't remember anything about her. All I have is this picture."

"She looks like she was a classy Lady." Patty heard him speak this softly, and a smile graced her face. "Thank you." she replied.

The two took a turn to an alley and went ahead for a minute.

Ever so often Vergil would hear the faint sound of heavy footsteps following them, just like he expected.

His hand tightened around her. "We better move a bit faster, you can't trust these back alleys nowadays." He said, pushing her forward to the light up ahead. Patty obliged without a question. Fear nagged at her brain. She could see the shadows again.

They reached the end of the passage at least, and he moved her behind him. "Hey, you have to listen to me here, okay?"

She gave him another silent nod.

"Okay. You have to go hide in that bush over there. Ya see it?"

She looked around and eventually managed to find what he was talking about, so the girl looked back at him and nodded again.

"Good. Do _not_ look up or walk out until I say so, understood?"

"Yes." She whispered.

The man felt close to her, much closer than that Lady. Patty was almost like a friend now, she could trust him, or at least was beginning to, and he didn't know how to feel about that just yet.

Nevertheless, he told her, "Great, now go."

She ran over to the bench nearby, and, sneaking under, she managed to crawl inside the relatively dry bushes.

He stood in front of the pathway's opening and simply waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait any longer. 'There you are. I knew it.' Vergil thought to himself

"What do you want, Demon Scum?" His voice rang deep and coarse; all venom and brimstone.

Patty didn't really want to see who he was talking to, so she just stayed hidden.

A crimson-clad devil with green scales showed itself casually. It looked at him through yellow, reptilian eyes and strode over to the unimpressed hunter with a smart-ass swagger.

"Hey there, dear boy. Can't you at least just once pretend you're glad to see me?" The demon growled so frustrated.

"My excitement knows no bounds." Vergil's voice was cold, sarcastic . . . blood-chilling.

He oozed a dark, rage-filled aura.

"Well, I'm happy to see you in one piece too. It's been soooo long. I've been itching to give you a suitable bash. Literally." The demon's lips quirked in a dreadful cheer. "I wonder. What's with the change of cloths?"

"Likewise. Are you trying to mock my brother with that getup? I can't contain my exhilaration any longer, Orzoth." Vergil replied, undercut with a cynical tone.

The brutal Orzoth, a figure from his past he wouldn't ever forget.

. . .

Loud cries of a child echoed through outside the cold night. Vergil struggled against the grip of the demon. Literally, it dragged him without much effort.

The boy's hands were pulled behind his back. His cheeks stained with his hot tears.

"You are all mine boy." The hideous creature spoke into his ear. It threw him savagely against the ground.

Vergil stared at his tormenter, drops streaming from the corner of his eyes. Terrified, he jumbled various options of escape.

At last, thinking of his mother and how worried she must be right now, a spark lit itself from within. . .And a devil awakened inside him.

. . .

That was a time when he was forced to live in the demon world, alone for 2 years. Exposed to all kinds of horror a kid like him should not've seen.

At least, not until he matured enough. Black energy erupted from him, sending a gloaming pillar high into the sky.

It could sense him. He was beyond what he was all those years ago.

"You aren't going to change to your form? That's hardly fair now, isn't it? Aren't you going to prove yourself sporting?"

"Funny, I've never heard you complain before. Or have you lost your edge, Orzoth?" Vergil's stone mouth was shadowed with a pale grin.

Against his power, it glowed like a ghost.

Orzoth's smile vanished as he slowly mounted his stance, prepared for an eager charge. "I might have. Would you care to help me sharpen it, dear boy?"

A flurry of demonic Gladius burst from the Devil's body, taking aim at his opponent and spiraling forward.

Neither expected the attacks to hit, least of all Vergil; he analyzed him, trying to see how he would react.  
He didn't disappoint, as he put on a mercurial display of speed, weaving in between the living blades. The swords took off and circled around in the air above them, waiting for another chance to strike.  
The reptilian entity buzzed forward on his firefly wings, fluidly moving like a slimy skeleton.

Striking downwards, it was confident that it could match his speed.  
In a blur, the blade twisted itself around and impaled itself through the beast's wrist, moving faster than he anticipated.

Orzoth felt splitting agony shoot up its arm, conjoining with the pain felt from the other wound. It's Cambionic enemy had shot a glowing, azure blade into a crease in its harness through it's abdomen.  
The creature wrapped its thin fingers around the hilt and yanked it out, but regretted it immediately. Though the construct looked smooth, it may as well have been barbed. It ran the creature through.  
Grunting the pain away, Orzoth attacked again, swing those razor-taloned arms.

It kept Vergil on the defensive, dodging and spinning.

The halfling waited for the perfect moment, stringing his old foe along until launching himself and Yamato off his back, roaring into a helm-breaking strike.

He slammed the katana down unto Orzoth's armor. The blade was almost ripped from his hands as the creature shoved him with its entire body, leaving him wide open and off balance.

Orzoth launched a series of claws into his mid riff that tore at his granite flesh. It stuck him on his right side a subsequently issued a series of punches to his face.  
Two basic ones, a bloody nose. Then a final third, capping the man so hard it knocked him on his back.

It's crimson, insect-armor coat was ruffled by his fist, which clung to the lapel. It's dinosauric legs couldn't support his weight, and so it came crashing forward, it's forehead cracking the cement ground.  
Though stifled the man used his legs to give the creature further momentum, sending it flip side onto its back.

It struggled to get to it's feet, as despite its demonic origin, these combination of features weren't exactly conducive to grace.

Managing to eventually toss itself onto its hand and feet, it quickly slithered around, moving not unlike a crocodile in the water.

Twisting itself around to face a recovered Vergil, the man stared the creature down for a split second.

Vergil threw Yamato's hilt in a spin, rotating at sonic speeds as it crashed into Orzoth's forearm. The beast was unsure of the attack, as the hilt itself didn't leave much of an impact.  
Looking back up, he was gone. Disappeared.

Suddenly, it's face was plastered with a heel digging into the cheekbone. It felt a serious crunching as it hurtled into the brick wall.  
Vergil zoomed forward with his katana, taking a page out of Dante's playbook with rapid-fire stinger.

The strike hit the brick wall and reverberated throughout the whole building as Orzoth used its wings to take shelter in the sky.

Looking down on him, the demon took a moment to think of a plan.

Unfortunately, it didn't anticipate another strike, as a summoned sword hit his chest. Rather than impaling, as it had done before, the weapon instead enabled its generator to fly forward at him.  
The Yamato then slashed down and severed the left set of wings.

It roared and spun downward as the slayer made artwork out of his body, slicing and dicing so fast he cut perfect lines through the rain drops before they could fall.  
He bloodied the demon, amputated its right arm and stabbed it to oblivion, all before delivering a stomp onto its head when the time came to hit the ground.

A shockwave rang out as the cement cracked and upended itself.

Vergil raised his left hand and the scabbard shot up from the ground back into his hand.  
Removing his foot, he quickly sheathed the blade, slowly stopping just an inch away before suddenly jamming it shut.

Numerous cuts and sores opened on it's body, bleeding the creature to near death.

The man banished the weapon and seized the thing by its throat.

"Who sent you after this girl?" Vergil interrogated sharply. Hoisting his demon up off the ground.

It gagged and spat, hissing at him though it had no venom.

"Okay! Alright . . . ! I- I'll talk." The demon trembled. "It was a man from the Lowell family, Walter! He wanted me to take this girl to the demon world. He-he wanted me to make her dinner, hehe- Gah!"

Vergil crushed on its larynx, stifling any further sarcasm.

It cried, begging for release.

"Aheh! You'll burn in hell for thi-! _*cough ~ cough*_ Arrauhghh-Alright, alright you pale bastard! You'll find him close by, waiting for me to inform him about the girl."

The silver-haired man took satisfaction from its suffering.

"I see." Vergil replied with a glint in his eyes. "Thank you . . . Now, you'll forget about this girl and leave."

At last he slammed the handle of Yamato into the demon's head, cracking its head open and sending it back to the demon world.

Vergil began walking to the bench but stopped for a moment, taking his breath.

He was soaked wet by the heavy rain.

"That felt good." A menacing smile broke across his face.

An old revenge, finally settled after so long.

He picked up the umbrella and closed his eyes. Focusing on his environment, he expanded on his internal temperature. Thus, the new ability he'd developed kicked in.  
Slowly, hellfire started to raise from his boots up to the rest of his body. Warmth spread in once again, almost like nothing happened.

The flames sparked out from beneath his soles, then traveled up above to his hair.  
And as soon as it appeared, his blaze vanished and Vergil walked out of the smoke, fully dry. He immediately opened the umbrella again.

There was no sense in drying himself off if he would just get wet again.

"Miss Lowell, it's time to go." He called out to her as he bent back over the bench, his umbrella covering the soggy bushes.

The little girl peered out at him with such relief in her eyes. "Is . . . is it over? I won't see him again?"

Vergil beamed warmth down at her, a reassuring gesture.

"Oh my god, I didn't think- I owe you my life." Patty replied and came out of her hiding spot.

Vergil simply tapped the top of her head and continued walking to their destination.  
Deep down, in a part of himself he desperately did not want to acknowledge, he _did_ feel for her.

He himself had been in this situation once before, but at that time, in that place, no one was there to help him.

When the boy needed help most, no one was there to answer his cries, least of all Dante. He had to suffer for a long, long time until he broke free.

And he couldn't wait until he stumbled upon the filth who wanted this done to her.

Five minutes of walking was all it took, they reached the almost empty train station. Here, they could leave and reach her new home.

Vergil's eyes darted around, scanning for the supposed human nearby.

He kept searching and searching . . .

Until he saw one, lone man. He was wearing a red shirt and blue jeans.  
There was a tattoo on his left forearm. His head looked down while his leg tapped the ground relentlessly. He lowered the umbrella and placed it in her hand.

"Wait here." He said.

There was something coldly mechanical about him that made her comply.

"A-Alright."

Vergil quickened his steps towards the man. So many possibilities to punish him for his crime.

"So, _you_ are the pesky human who sold a child to a demon?" He asked loudly, getting the stranger's attention. He gazed up at him, surprised, before his eyes went to the right and left in an attempt to look for someone else the red man could be addressing.

"Yes you are. You're a one Walter Lowell aren't you?" Vergil asked again, standing directly in front of him.

"What do you want punk?" He spat the words.

"Punishment." Vergil leered widely at him. "You see, I hate people like you. I don't even know why, I just really, _really_ want to hurt you. Who are you to kill a child?  
Who made you god to say 'I'll take your life from you?'"

The man drew his knee up and kicked him in the stomach. He then slugged him twice in the face so hard, with two brass knuckles, that the impact of the strikes sent the half-breed tumbling backwards. The pain was minor, nothing really.

His head whipped back from the blow.

Vergil resented the idea of a human being able to even come close to his power, let alone hurt him. To resort to use his powers against someone like this man . . .  
But actually inflicting pain on him, making him shocked that a nobody, a mere man could harm him, that defied his very world view.

Vergil returned his head stationary, and glared at the man with smoldering detestation. He'd never at anyone like this, not even Orzoth.

A maddening, sapphire aura of devil-aggression started to suppurate from Vergil, encompassing him in an icy chill of sulfuric anger.

Walter lifted his head, eyes widening, gripped by terror.

"Wha-What the hell are you doing?" He wailed, petrified. Vergil's eyes turned red, shimmering with hostility.

Walter didn't even realize when he'd been hit, tailspinning backwards to the train station's soaked ground. His neck snapped and his head almost clean off the body.

The cadaver laid there, lifeless.

His separated head fell down the steps towards Walter's approaching posse. These man were larger than Walter, but just as thuggish.  
Vergil looked upon him with that same ruthlessness.

Far in the distance, Patty heard a blood chilling scream.

She flinched, not really wanting to see.

In the middle of pondering what route they'd take, she heard his voice, calling her.

"Move it."

Patty ran toward Vergil, wishing nothing more than to reach home and get this over with. Once she reached him, her eyes caught the sight of a man who'd faltered onto the ground. Quivering none-stop, his arms were crossed in a cross formation.

Eyelids forced open to the point of bloodshot, staring at the wall above him. "I saw him, hehaha! A demon . . . a monster!" The man fumbled over his words, stuttering.

He appeared struggling to breath and he broke into hysterical fits of laughter. "What happened to him? Shouldn't we call for help?" Patty wondered.

"No," Dante replied. "Forget about him. He's . . . He's justified."

"Hey.."Patty raised her voice, slightly worried as she lifted her sleeve up."My scar is still there! why?" Exposing her arm once again.

" Because it's not over." He replied." I told you it's gonna to be a tough road."

"Oh come on..." Patty's head bowed in defeat.

 **..Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. So what do you think so far? Merry Christmas and happy New year everyone. See you in 2018**

 **Special thanks to Angel wolf for helping me with this.**


	7. Chapter 7 Rational Gaze

**Thank you Turbo Sexaphonic, (funny name, I like it.) Thank you for your sweet reviews, you made me happy. I'm glad you are loving my story.**

 **Chapter 7 - Rational Gaze**

* * *

The train swayed and rocked. It darted down the path, squealing past a town with no train station. The thunder of it's wheels echoed by a thundering grey sky.  
'Dante' sat on the direct opposite bench, in the same aisle to the girl. The low glow of the morning sun overstayed its welcome, and the gentle rocking of the train soothed him.  
The steam and the mechanisms slowed down with the view outside to a concrete building. The Ecliptic Express happened to be nearly vacant of people at such a late hour.

The little one's eyes beamed at him with a blank expression. Not that it disturbed him, but it felt like having an owl stare him down.  
He could see it in her eyes, and she wanted to say something about it.

But, youth is often hesitant to do so.

"Is there something bothering you?" His left foot tapped the floor of the train car.

Patty's cheek went red immediately.

"It's nothing . . ." she stuttered slightly. "It's just- *sigh*, My mother gave me away to that orphanage _because_ _of the demons_ that followed us . . ."

She paused for a second to wait for his reaction.

The silver-haired man stopped however, and his eyes were blank. Patty could read no emotion out of them. An expression of embarrassment and sadness scratched itself onto her face in mere seconds.  
The right corner of his lip winced as he blinked at her.

"Never mind." She crossed her arms and watched the view in the window. As much As Vergil hated to admit it, this moment reminded him of Dante.

When they were young, he had these same little innocent puppy eyes. What else could he tell Patty? That her mother didn't want her? He knew enough now to not even try.

But her words caught his interest.

A haunting or a curse . . . why, really? Unless her mother was marked too, or did she do something to muddle demonic affairs?  
He paused for a moment.

She could be a witch.

"Try to sleep, Miss Lowery." His cold voice broke the awkward moment.

"Lowell." She politely corrected him.

"Lowell." He replied.

In the middle of it all, his ears detected the sound of a heavy vibration above.  
Something was dragging itself. Turbulence perhaps? On a train? Not likely. He could sense it, waiting for lunchtime. The demon growled some ancient words in a blackened speech.

"Sacrifice . . . The one." That was all he could make out.

Vergil grimaced, his eyes looking at the floor.

"This will be your grave, if you touch her . . ." He spat in a faint whisper.

A man wearing a suit came up to their seats, holding what looked like a heavy suitcase.

"Hey there, mind if I sit here next to you guys?" He asked with a gentle smile.

Vergil shook his head, with a slight annoyance evident in his eyes.

Patty got lost in her locket briefly.

"-Well now, that's a very pretty picture. Is that mommy?" He asked.

Patty looked up, vacant for a second. "Huh? Oh, yes it is. It's just an old picture . . ."

"Well, you're not so bad yourself, young ma'am. I can see good looks run in the family. Mind if I join you and your daughter sir?" He looked at Vergil, whose stern look worsened.

His left hand stayed concealed but tightened into a fist.

"If you value your head, you'll sit as far away from us as you can."

The man stood back a bit, unsure of why he'd been so harsh to him.

"Whoa, chill out." He raised his hand, remaining calm. "You could just say, no."

Patty was taken aback by Vergil's refusal.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Patty elevated her volume.

Vergil eyed the girl for a second, but then he signaled the man off, "It isn't personal, just go sit somewhere else. There's plenty of open cars today. Run if you have to."

His eyes flashed red hypnotically.

The stranger became charmed, ultimately shrugging as he paced over two rows ahead of them.

"That wasn't nice." Patty frowned. "Why did you do that?"

The Cambion laid back upon on the chair, sprawling out in a familiar position he'd know Dante would most likely take up.  
He didn't need to bother explaining anything to her.

How would he say, 'I just saved his life? Literally. It's just another disturbing abomination coming after you. It waits for you, stalking on the roof above.'

The conductor announced the train was about to go through a tunnel.  
He was jovial despite a clear lack of appreciation for his job. Not that being a train conductor couldn't be fun every once in a while.

Vergil opened his coat and immediately grabbed the girl, albeit doing so gently. He really never wanted to inflict any force on her.  
Not now that he knew her.

"Hide in my coat, now." He said, calm but urgent.

Patty's eyes dampened, and turned confused. "What? Why, it's only a-"

She gasped, realizing what might happen. She ceased arguing.  
The look in his eyes was the same when he told her to hide in the bushes. Reluctantly, she moved across to his bench. It felt awkward.

Patty cleared her throat nervously and sat beside him. Hiding her face in the small of his back, he closed the coat around her.

The light vanished from her vision. Nothing but darkness enveloped her.

His coat truly was all encompassing.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she heard him whisper unrecognizable words. Like he spoke in tongues.

The mumbling sounded somewhat like, "Berbaysu . . . adanai . . . arisanthal yeldu."

Vergil waited for the answer from the creature.

"You shall not... interfere, son of Sparda." The demon growled, smugly contesting his might.

Vergil felt a crushing feeling come over his chest. His frustration boiled in his heart, making his fist burn.

Part of him wished he'd taken Ifrit as a substitute for Beowulf, then at least he would have the pleasure of ripping the creature apart with his bare hands.  
In fact, he made a not for himself to retrieve the weapon when next he returned to the shop.

For the train, it bounded left as the tunnel curved and emerged into the light once again.

"Are you holding up?" Dante asked.

Patty shuddered like she was slowly freezing.

"It's so cold!" Panic crept over her. "It's too cold, just like-. . ." she whispered, staining his coat with warm tears.

Dante wrapped his arms around her. "Calm down. Close your eyes, and focus on the train. Just listen to the gears."

Patty's hand tightened around the shirt on his back. The thoughts were accelerating inside her head. She wanted them to slow, at least so she could breathe . . . but they won't.  
Her heart pounded inside her trunk, beating up against every cavity. It belongs to a rabbit, running for its skin.  
The room spun, and she made herself shrink and shrink, crumpling further into a small little box. Everything slowed around her, the stress reaching a fever pitch.

The grinding gears were smooth and oiled, running as efficiently as they'd ever gone.  
They grew clearer in her mind, becoming larger, more engrossing. It grew to be the only thing she knew, becoming her metal home inside an alien world.

In the midst of her focus, she heard the sound of steel colliding with something.

At first, she thought it was the train hitting some debris on the tracks. A rock maybe, or the remnants of some human commodity accidentally lost over the side of the highway over them.

But then loud, plodding vibrations thundered through the car, mixed with the sound of something like a sword.

And just like that, within seconds. The train movement halted completely, nearly hurtling her off the seat, but 'Dante' caught her by the collar.

Warmth spread throughout her nervous system once again. She pulled back to look at him. Her eyes riddled him with silent questions.

"What-! What the hell was that!?" She asked the very first issue hanging on the tip of her tongue.

"I'm afraid you have to go through more than this. To be set free, it'll get worse from here. Much worse." He said and set her down on the ground.

He removed her bangs from her eyebrows, attending to to see if she needed anything more.  
He straightened her clothes and brushed off some dirt on his shoulder.

"Security!" A woman screamed. Patty noticed crimson color seeping from under one of the chairs, three rows behind them.

"Don't look. That's for Adults Only." He said after thinking on it for a moment. He grasped her suitcase. "Let's go."

"Oh no you don't! No one leaves till we get this sorted out." It was the train car's staff security. "What's the rush, wise guy? You wouldn't be trying to hide something, would you?"

Vergil stared right into his soul, his eyes transferring the notion of hatred.  
He stayed silent, unsure of how to handle what was going on.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but you're 'barking up the wrong tree.'" It was the first time he'd ever said a phrase like that.

He'd heard Dante say it many times as they got older, though he disliked saying such phrases. Saying it was comical, Vergil had a real dry sense of humor.  
No one really spoke as deadpan as he could.

"Oh-ho, really now? You're staying here till we get this sorted . . . How do I know it wasn't you, eh? An old man is dead and their's only six people here." The man said,  
pretending to possess more authority than he really did.

What few people there were gathered around.

Vergil stared him down further. Then broke from his stoicism. He dropped her luggage, leaving Patty to fumble as she caught the damn thing.

"You're right, there were only six people. Let's go through each suspect, shall we, Poirot?" He said, sounding reserved and uncaring, doing his very best to imitate Dante's flippant nature.

The man stood back, caught off guard as he stared at the man in confusion.  
Vergil strolled forward past the man, keeping his hands in his pockets, and addressed everyone present.

"Okay. For the ten seconds of darkness or so, there was me and the girl, then those three. Then there's our dead friend here. That makes six." He said,  
remaining rigid as he awkwardly leaned back on a seat post.

It was lower than he expected.

Eh, he'll get the body language down soon enough. Just after he masters the vocabulary . . . still a bit too archaic in places. Of course, it was just for show.  
No one really got the Agatha Christie reference either.

"Yeah, and i suppose, what? You were just innocently practicing your guitar?" The man said, referencing his black case.

Vergil attempted a good-natured chuckle, but just sounded like he was mocking the man's intelligence.  
He got angry with him, pumping his chest up and threatening to come forward towards the scarlet slayer.

The man just ignored him, returning to a hateful stare briefly. It stopped him dead in his tracks.

"So, let's make this clear. The lovers were kissing all the way back in the corner, thinking nobody noticed. They didn't do it." When he said this, the couple flinched, becoming uncomfortable.

He gave them a scornful glance.

"Then, there was the business man. He sat a few feet in front of us that way. He couldn't have done it, there wasn't enough time to get from point A to point B, then back again in just ten seconds.  
And when we came out he was still sitting up there." Vergil said motioning to the polite man he'd turned away.

The investigator scoffed at Vergil.

"Okay, _detective_. That still leaves _you_. You're not making a point here. You still could have done it." He said, arrogantly leaning on the seat post as well, and also subsequently misjudging the height.  
He ineptly shuffled as he ultimately rested his elbow on the top of the seat.

"You think I'd do something like that with her nearby?" 'Dante' retorted, motioning to Patty, "I didn't do it. That man has a hole in the head, and I've made it a personal code of ethics not to carry guns.  
You didn't hear a gun shot, did you? Besides, she was afraid of the dark, so she hid in my jacket."

Dante lifted his coat to reveal no holsters anywhere.

The train marshal became unsettled, looking back at the girl.

Patty nodded at him, affirming the story's validity.

"W-Well- Well, i-if you didn't do it smart-ass, who did? There's only six people here." He said, deflated.

"Well, that's not entirely the truth either, is it?" Vergil's glare pierced through into the man's brain. "There were two other people, not counting all of us. That's you, and someone else."

The man grew angry again, "You're not seriously suggesting that-" Vergil cut him off.

"No, don't be ridiculous. You were all the way at the front, you have the same alibi as the business man." He said, absolving the man, and then glanced out the cracked window.

Patty and the others followed his gaze, and noticed the window's status for the first time.  
How could they have been blind to it? It was plain as the sunlight coming through the fractured glass.

"So that leaves just one last person. Or rather, _thing._ " He said.

The creature stirred, and began to rip apart the ceiling. It growled and hissed as it showed it's multi-eyed mug to the occupants.  
It screamed in some alien language. The black speech of earlier, roaring something roughly translated as, "You rage-inducing dog dick of Anubis! I'll rip your legs off!"

So, apparently, it knew of Egyptian mythology.

Everyone screamed, bewildered by the beast.

'Dante' shoved the investigator off his feet, past Patty.

He spun into place beneath the creature and held both his hands upwards, clasping a small, aquamarine orb, held within a prism of silver wire. A pot of some kind.  
A sudden, brilliant flash of sapphire light energy detonated as he crushed the object held in his hands.

It funneled upward into a pillar of energy as Vergil somehow restrained the blast, focusing it upwards into the creature.

It tried to resist, but to no avail, ripping away from the car into the sky.  
As it rocketed upward, it began to disintegrate, it's limbs tearing away into dust, it's mind breaking into pieces, and that delightfully hideous face shredding into atoms.

After a few moments, the cozy, inviting luminescence vanished, leaving behind a bunch of scared humans.

Vergil took control, "None of you tell anyone what you saw. Who'll believe you, anyway?" He said, mocking their feeble attempts to understand what kind of Cthulhu monster they'd just seen.

It looked like an over-sized mutant crocodile, with tentacles and eyes in place of that elongated jaw. The body was also much longer, possessing many limbs to disturbing level.  
With the blast came relief, and the those frightened, such as the business man, simply ran, but mostly fine. He'd probably chalk it up to being a bad dream.

Others, like the couple, just stood in amazement.

The female partner said, "Th-thank you!"

While the man was enamored by how awesome that all just was, saying, "That was scary as hell, but that was amazing! Rock on, dude! Leaving now!"

And the couple hurriedly left, strangely more gracious than the others.  
Then there was the investigator.

"D-don't touch me! What the hell _was that!?_ " he yelled, squirming away from the man in red.

"That was the last of my mercy." He said.

And he ran. He ran so far away, abandoning his post and throwing away his name tag.  
He went mad from the revelation.

Patty just treated it as business as usual.

"Well, that was special." She said, almost cynical, although she was still childlike.

Vergil stood for a moment.

"Are you okay?" He said, wondering if that whole scene was too much for the young girl to take.

"I think so. Just give me a sec." She said and used the post of the seats to prop herself up.  
She, of course, was just the right height.

Vergil took a moment, then decided to come over to her. He soothed her shoulder, trying to make her feel better.

"Hey. I didn't mean for you to see that. I promise to be better next time, all right?" He said, giving her another encouraging smile. His second of the day.

She beamed back at him after a moment of hesitation, coming to trust him.

"Th-thank you. I think i'm okay now. That was just-, that was intense." She said, adding, "I've seen other demons, so I think that helps."

He just stared at her. He grabbed the umbrella and his guitar case, hoisting the big onto his back after placing the umbrella within.  
Then, they departed the train.

. . .

'Dante' and Patty stepped out of the train and welcomed some people going in.  
Vergil hurried them along, knowing that the others who'd entered would soon discover . . .

A female scream emanated through the station.

But they were already well away, moving through a different crowd, pulling out towards their destination.  
His speed came in handy often.

Vergil pulled the paper from his front pocket and unfolded it, checking for the address on the map one more time.

"So, we are here . . ." He pointed with his index finger at a number. He studied their route for a moment. "We should keep going to a main street and-"

When he heard a feminine voice, moaning the word 'oh,' then 'yes.'

"D-uh, excuse me?" He said, scanning the area. He felt a small hand tug at his coat.  
Looking down, she pointed to their right.

The two gazed over and saw a woman approaching them.  
She was wearing a tight, sleeveless black top that barely covered her midriff, alongside a red leather miniskirt that hugged everything but her legs.

All she wore on her legs were black pumps.

She eyed him up and down, flaunting her symmetrical, alluring face, then her eyes trailed to Patty, "What's with the little girl? You 'peddling her wares?'"

Her voice was deep, and she gave him a steamy eye, hoping to make his cheeks flare with the remark.

Vergil was taken aback, about as confused as much as he was insulted.  
What made her have such thoughts, did he really look that suspicious?

However he kept looking at her blankly, "I'm not a pimp."

His stoicism was alluring.

"That's much better then." She smiled seductively. The toned woman sauntered forth, her hips swaying swiftly in front of him. She bends over slightly for her generous cleavage to press up a bit,  
tightening her assets . . . firmly bouncing with each step.

Vergil shrugged, finding her attractive but not distracting.

"I'm, eh-. . . I'm her Dad." He said, a little annoyed by this persistence.

He held Patty's hand, hurrying with her forward, on their way.

The woman's eyes glittered, as she watched him for a moment.

"Oh my . . . Nice ass you have there." And followed closely behind.

"Oh-ho, a family man, eh? I'd show her a few things if you got the time . . ." She said. Vergil rapidly looked back and forth between Patty and the woman.

"No." His cynical tone retorted. "Not going to happen."

The woman's face softened a bit. Thinking of a plan in her mind, it seems he is the hard to get type.

A challenge.

Uh oh.

"Well, I can tell by how you dress, you must be single. That's so unfair." She said and tapped Vergil's shoulder. "Call me, and I'll make you feel like no one ever will. Think about it, okay baby . . . ?"

She grazed the inside of his thigh, moving her body close to his as she strode away.  
Her hand slowly trailed down to his lower back. Dante felt her slip a card in his rear pocket.

"Catch you later, Adonis." She gave a sultry whisper in his ear, and with that, walked away.

He watched the woman for a second, as her figure vanished into the crowd.

He took the card out to check what her name was, just for the hell of it.

"Crystal Daly." He read aloud.

'Dante' rolled his eyes, "How charming." He muttered.

His index and thumbs ripped the card down the middle. With the distraction dealt with, he looked down to see a wide-eyed Patty.

She was just . . . yeah.

"Never speak of this. Got it?" He said.

A quiet laugh escaped her tiny lips. "Why not? She's gorgeous. An inappropriate weirdo but still . . ."

Dante closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath.  
There's no time to speak out on such silly transgressions.

"When you grow older, you'll understand. A woman like that only throws herself at me because of how I look; nothing else. I don't need someone like that around." Vergil spoke softly.

The yellow sun changed to hues of orange, and then almost tangerine.  
It merged with the sky, like a juice mix dissolving in a glass of water.

"Wasn't I supposed to be home by now?" Patty asked.

The train station was just a figment in the distance now.

"No, it's fine. We have until tomorrow. The timing of your father's hearing to claim his inheritance. Well, your inheritance." He corrected himself calmly.

"Ah. Do you think people will get sketchy about the train? How many do you think saw the light?"

Vergil chuckled. "Put it our of your mind, little one."

She smiled to herself. His sense of humor was growing on her.

The bleak dusk engulfed the city within minutes. Vergil's eyes focused on the alleyways and rooftops. Demons do so love to blend with humans, but have the most horrid taste when it comes to attacking.  
Patty looks forward while the orange street lamps glazed the asphalt.  
They all glimmered on, blinking in and out at first as the power began to stabilize.

Her heart started to grow quick again. The dark signaled the beginning of the end for her.  
She tried to ignore it, concentrate only on putting one foot in front of the other, but each time her shoes scraped the pavement she was sure it was the sound of another grisly pursuer.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, and the shadows danced on the walls of the alleyway, forming odd silhouettes she dared not look in the face.

Vergil's grasp tightened around her hand. "Don't fear them. They won't hurt you."

"Aren't you at all scared of them? The things that come after me?" She asked quietly.

He looked at her for a moment as they walked.

"No, they're usually afraid of me." He said.

Her heart pounded a little less when he said that.  
She felt good, even though she knew it was getting more and more dangerous.

Every cell vibrated beneath her skin as she pulled her eyes in front of her.  
 _Every little thing_ sounded menacing.

The sound of a siren far off: The wails from a thousand tortured souls.  
The pebbles beneath her feet getting thrown together: The sound of something grating into the pavement right behind her.  
The sound of a dented trash can tipping over from a gust of wind, then rolling around: The gears of a million beastly weapons aimed right at her forehead, clicking the safety off.

She bit back the shriek that swelled at the back of her throat, but it stuck. A lump was harder to breathe past than she would have liked.

A tire track of sweat slid behind her ear, though she could almost guarantee it was the caress of a watery finger.  
She started to walk faster, creating noise. She demanded that it slow, but it didn't. She couldn't help it. The imposing grime felt like it was choking her, corroding . . .

Patty brought herself closer to him, calming her senses, feeling safer.

Here comes another one.

Vergil knelt down and whispered, "Hey. See that hotel?" He asked.

She nodded, down the road some fifty feet was a small little motel.  
Vergil really needed to get reacquainted with culture, so he could at least tell the difference between a hotel and motel.

Nevertheless,

"Go inside and wait for me. Okay?"

Patty's eyes drifted to the side, and saw a medium-sized, neon sign, hung above an average looking place.

"Um, that's kind of far, don't you think? I- I'm not that brave."

Vergil picked her chin up with his curled index finger. She looked at him.

"Look at me. It's good to fear things. Fear is like . . . It's like your superpower, understand?"

She shook her head no.

"Fear drives you, right? It can make you stronger than you think, and braver than you believe. Even if anything tries to stop you, you can get past it because you're so fast." Surprisingly,  
he was actually giving a rather encouraging pep talk to her. There's a first time for everything.

"So let the fear empower you, don't let it be your weakness. Can you make it now, Miss Lovell?" He said.

"Lowell." She corrected.

"Lowell, right." He muttered, "I'm losing my head at the mo-, do you understand?"

She nodded to him, a toughened but still sensitive look on her face.

"Good . . . Now, run." He said, and she took off, practically flying down the road to get to the building.

Vergil faced the street, his ears following the sound of small creaking.  
However, something didn't feel right about this one. It sounded like boots strutting casually, but the steps seemed to vibrate irregularly, vacillating from left to right.

Like the creature is toying with it's prey.

So either he just made a huge mistake, or great sacrifice for her.

"Show yourself . . ." He whispered, banishing the guitar case in favor of Yamato. Brandishing the blade, he held unto it's hilt, still sheathed.

The shadow billowed up from the ground, like a fountain. Directly in front of him, an entity walked right out of it.  
Vergil couldn't process what he just saw. He backtracked slightly, thinking maybe he was having another dream, another demonic affect.

Was he still in the train? 'That'd be a good twist.' He thought to himself.

But no, not this time.

Right in front of him, stood a bald man dressed in black, his different colored eyes watching him with a wicked smile.

"I told myself it wasn't you, but I knew better . . . What do you want, Arkham?" Vergil sternly spoke to his old affiliate, just like in the days of the tower.

"I'm so glad you still remember our old accord." Arkham spoke in his deep, husky voice. "Makes my revenge feel all the more sweet."

"Why are you alive? What purpose would coming after me serve you?"

Arkham smirked and looked down at the ground, he just remained silent.

"Answer me!" He said, that old anger returning.

He stared up at him, remaining silent as he stared manically, his fleshy scar pulsating across his face.

"I'm going to get you . . . I'm going to get you, and that ungrateful whore I called Mary. The seed implanted . . . You're going to follow your mother in death."

Vergil's eyes sharpened once he realized what the man referenced.

"You'd put your daughter through that?" He asked with bated breath, "All the suffering in the world for what? A second chance at power you're not, and never were, worthy enough to perceive?"

"Oooooddd . . ." He elongated his word, taunting him with a rigorous spite, "I don't recall you being so attached to her . . ."

Vergil gritted his teeth. "I won't ever stoop so low to obtain something I want."

The anger in his voice rose. "Despicable . . . I should have known you would sink this low, you buffoon. After all, it was so easy for you to kill that bride of yours."

Arkham stared at him, his mouth remaining drooped open and his eyes wild, but not angry. No . . . they were amused.  
He was back all right, but now he was changed. Vergil could feel it. Something was fundamentally altered.

"No witty retort?" Vergil questioned, remaining vigilant, but confused at his lack of response.

The man stayed murderous, looking at the silver haired hunter with engulfing eyes that glowed something chaotic.  
His temper rose, becoming more and more upset at the quiet.

"What are you playing at? Did you think I was going to be out for your blood?" He spat venomously at the man.

Silence.

" **Say something!** " He shouted, half demonic as his eyes glowed crimson.

A splitting pain broken across his forehead as stumbled back, grabbing his head with his right hand.  
Grunting in pain, he fell to on one knee.

He grasped the other side of his head with his left now, and began to feel like his head was in a vice.

So. Much. Pressure.

'Stop.'

'Stop!'

'STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-'  
"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRAH!" He bellowed as he raised his head from his palms, staring with more blistering ire than a star.

His iris and pupils vanished in a sea of rubies, glowing a spectral, soulless crimson.

He bore his teeth like an untamed wolf, clamping his jaw down so hard that his molars nearly shattered.

Launched forward off his feet with a fist, he let Yamato fall by the wayside.  
Vergil blasted forward like a bullet, launching a sonic strike with all his strength, drawing upon his darker half for more.

It connected with Arkham's nose, and his whole body bloated.

A vermillion explosion of hatred burst into the night, and his knuckles punctured the man's head, seemingly impaling the skull on his arm.

His bicep remained lodged inside the man's head, and when the aura cleared out, Arkham proceeded to 'pop.'

The man's body snapped like a rubber balloon, breaking apart into confetti.

The hunter drooped on the spot, resting on his knees a moment.

"Mary . . ." He whispered to himself.

He pushed the thoughts away.

'She can watch herself just fine.' He told himself.

But, then again, why now?  
His mind raced along, reflecting Arkham's meaning. He knew what was going to happen, but how?

That part was troublesome.

"No more . . . No more. That's far enough." He pulled the phone out, and started searching until he stumbled upon a number with the name 'Lady' attached.

Vergil rolled his eyes. Lady? Really. Still, he would respect the choice, considering their last engagement. He pressed call and waited.

And waited.

. . . And waited.

. . . And waited . . .

"Come on, answer, you brat."

. . .

. . .

. . .

He sighed and gave up.

"I can't believe I will say this, but-" He admitted to himself. "It's not fair. I don't think I can do this alone . . ."

He clicked with his shoes and turned away, summoning Yamato to him and returning the guitar case.  
Hoisting it on his back, he moved on to the motel.

As he came to the glass door, he noticed Patty waiting for him. He touched the handle and the door opened with a creak, and an attached bell subsequently rang.

He noticed it and grabbed the little wreath, ripping it from the top of the door.  
Vergil didn't even look at it, tossing the wretched thing into the disposal bin.

Patty could tell there was an immediate difference in his demeanor. He was slouched and depressed, a far cry from the more confident man she'd been walking with.

The place inside was half lit.  
With flays around a small lamp over the reception's desk, it looked like it was still decorated for Christmas, despite the holiday having been over for almost a month.

A man with messy, inked hair sat reluctantly, his back facing them.

"Give me a room." He said, his grim anger leaking out in his face a bit.

"Hmm, one adult and a child . . ." The man had a raspy voice. He opened a drawer and took a key with the number 14. He threw it backward for Vergil to catch.

"Enjoy."

Vergil was silent for a moment and observed the man. Something's not right about this.

"Are you okay?" The girl tug at his hand, whispering to him.

"Let's go."

He took her hand and went for the stairs. Their room, located down the hall, wasn't fancy, but full enough for the two to move freely.  
There was one twin size bed and a window directly next to it. The room had an auburn carpet, borderline brown. A blacklight would reveal bad things, for sure.

The sink had soap scum and dried water stains all over the faucet. It was exposed openly to the room, while the restroom had the toilet and shower tub, but a very tight door.

He went to the window and peeked through the old, discolored blinds.

Patty ran and threw herself upon the bed. "I'm tired."

"Sleep. You need it." Vergil moved away from the window.

"Good idea. I hadn't thought of that." She chuckled and took her hat, placing it to the side of the crummy headboard. Once her head fell upon the pillow, she was fast asleep.

Vergil crashed on the seedy couch and stretched his legs. They creaked and popped, like old floorboards. No matter how strong he was, he still got sore.  
His eyes moved up to the ceiling.

And Vergil's mind drifted elsewhere . . .

"But mom, I'm strong now! I can help fight back!" The voice of a tween echoed.

"Sweetheart. I know you've grown strong, but that doesn't mean you should put yourself in danger to prove it." The gentle feminine voice Of Eva replied, sterner than before.

She continued, "You need to be careful. Think about the consequences before you do something. You don't see how a bad thing can happen."

* * *

. . .

* * *

"Mother . . ." Vergil whispered. He kept on relaxing, when his ear caught an unusual sound.

He shot up from the couch, and, to his dismay, Patty was nowhere to be seen.

His face scrunched into a scowl, and he left the room, sprinting in seconds to the front desk.

He charged up, coldly barking, "Where's my daughter?"

"Huh? I don't know what you are talking about."

Vergil felt the urge to murder. He grabbed the man by his jacket and pulled him roughly face-to-face.

"I'm going to say this just once." His eyes flashed red, "Where. Is. Patty?"

The man squirmed in his arms, wanting to be relinquished back to his worn leather chair.

"Dah-! O-okay! My name is Sid and if you break my neck I won't be able to help you. Put me down please!" He replied, speaking a million miles an hour.

* * *

. . .

Patty found herself walking in what seemed to be the entryway of an opera house.  
The voice of a woman sent shivers through the walls from how powerful it was; how pure.

She took a left and there was a half-opened, wood door. A light snuck beneath it, "Mom!"

She screamed and ran inside, not really processing where she was going.

The theater hall had no lights, other than the stage itself, where a blonde woman in a pink dress stood.

A bright smile graced her face. Her mother was right there.

She could be with her.

As if time slowed, Patty ran down toward her, but never grew close enough, the image slowly turning to darkness.

From another dimension it seemed, she felt hands grab her and she was pushed into someone's chest.  
Heat started to rise, like the one holding her was burning up.

"Dante!?" She shouted once she realized who it was.

"Why would you do that!?" He screamed before pushing her down into a chair.

He summoned Yamato and slashed at the darkness, creating a swirl of slashes and supra cosmic poles of light.  
She watched as occasional sparks and dimensional blasts of radiance lancing through the dark.

Vergil battled hard and he battled fierce, unleashing all his pent up frustration as he pulled on a curtain that separated her from the danger.

She kept watching eyes glued to the action as her guardian hacked his way through endless waves of enemies.

Once, she heard him grunt. Did one get off a lucky shot?  
It didn't matter, they all lost their heads eventually.

And in the end, he proved victorious, emerging from the dark covered in sanguineous fluid.

He was panting, exhaling hard.

Blinded by his anger, he'd let his guard down, leaving him open a few times.

Once Patty heard a complete silence, she'd stood, but immediately met his frosty gaze.  
He trudged towards her, exhausted and very, very cross.

"Why did you leave the room . . . It was safe there!" He looked at her, scornful yet again, "If I was late you would be dead."

Patty's eyes fell to the ground.

"I'm sorry. It's just, I saw my . . . I saw my mommy." Tears fell to the floor, she remained defeated, "-And I wanted to see her again. I-I just wanted to know what her hug felt like again."

Vergil sighed, kneeling down to join her at eye level.  
He touched her shoulders and said.

"You can't be stupid out here. This isn't the orphanage, this is the real world. Think about the consequences before you do something. You don't see how a bad thing can happen."  
He wouldn't sugarcoat it.

She did a damn stupid thing just now.

Patty's eyes met his for a moment.

". . . I'm sorry." She replied, wiping her tears away, sniffling and catching in her breath.

He stood and walked by her, making his way for the exit.

"Th-thank you." She said, and he stopped.

Vergil looked back at her, and held out his hand.

She jogged forward and took it.

"Lets go home."

* * *

. . .

* * *

Lady lived in an apartment on the fifth floor.  
She had an okay view of the street and the sky. Through the balcony, she could view most everything around.

It was, essentially, a concrete ledge, with rough, square edges, and a rusty railing.

But it was _her_ oasis, her perfect place to relax and enjoy the wind.

The bounty hunter sat there, dominated by a profound sadness, fatigue engraved on her pretty face.  
She warmed her shivering hands together.

'He broke your spirit, didn't he?'

The words kept playing in her mind like twisted torture. Lady clenched her fists, anger flaring ever so often.

"I'm not weak . . . I'm not." She repeated, over and over.

Thinking back to what started this all, Patty couldn't find her the answer to her question.

"Mary died a long time ago. I'm not running from anything."

Why did she say that? Was it embarrassment that she belonged to such a father? Losing her beloved mother to him . . . Damn it!  
She stomped the cold floor. She hissed a breath through clenched teeth. But the strength left her, even as she attempted to stand.

Her throat held back something between a sob and a shout.

She had to see him again. They needed to talk and settle this.

As far as she and Dante was concerned, she was through running a long time ago, her past settled and moved on from.  
Well, Dante the way he was before. What happened to him?

Her cellphone started ringing in her pocket again, and she rolled her eyes in annoyance. She did not want to go out for a job right now, and rest is needed.

Lady pulled the phone, and she was even more troubled to read the name.

Dante.

Lady returned the phone to her pocket and rubbed her temples.  
The fearless bounty huntress couldn't face him, not until she figured out her situation.

The necklace around her neck vibrated a bit too abnormal.  
It was something her mother enchanted in order to protect herself from any demon nearby her, or at least alert her to their presence.

The necklace was supposed to belong to her. But Kalina Ann died young.

"Perfect timing." She smirked and prepared.

 **Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this :)**

 **Note: If there is people confused, Vergil bares Dante's appearance from dmc2, cloths and hair style. But yeah still young.**

 **Special thanks to my beta reader Angel wolf.**


	8. Chapter 8 Mister Sandman

**Note removed like I said.**

 **Chapter 8 - Mister Sandman**

* * *

Vergil sat on a bench.

Patty was resting her head on his leg for a little nap. She was fast asleep.

Vergil's thought drifted elsewhere once again.

...

A small child wandering the demon world . . . Fear and dread engulfed his every thought.

Anatomy repairing itself without care to the extreme damage.

No Father. No Mother. Not even that stubborn bastard.

...

"That was the past! . . . That was the past. They fear _me_ now." He whispered to himself.

However his eyes caught the sight of a woman.

The prostitute from earlier.

"Hey babe."

He gave a signature scoff.

"What in Sparda's name . . ." He trailed off, angered by her presence.

"Sparda. Handsome devil, he was. But I want you." She replied.

His eyes widened.

"Excuse me?"

The woman was roughly thirty feet away, but suddenly, she appeared to walk across his field of depth, taking one step forward right next to him.

She ran her right hand up his inner thigh, eventually groping his phallus.

He immediately seized her wrist and pulled her arm away.

"Who do you think you are? Don't touch me, whore." He snapped.

Patty was literally only a few inches away.

"And just who do you think you are to refuse me? Devil's sin. So sin, _maggot_." Her eyes began bleeding, and they glowed a spectral orange.

She thrust her palm to his throat, holding his head back.

He choked, suddenly unable to reach her as her arm elongated and her body moved a million miles away.

There he hung, above a chasm of nothing. And he must scream.

"Useless being." He heard a familiar voice boom in his ears.

* * *

His head shot up.

Just a dream . . .

He rubbed his forehead. Next to him, Patty still slept.

Gently, he nudged the girl's rosy cheek.

"Hey, hey. Wake up." His voice was soft to her.

Patty frowned and pushed his hand away.

"Mmmm-Just five more minutes . . ." She mumbled.

He rolled his eyes and forced her up, propping her with one hand into a standing position.

"The sun isn't even out yet." She sleepily stumbled.

Vergil didn't waste any time; he couldn't.

He took off sprinting, dragging Patty with him onto the sidewalk, behind wooden paneling put out for construction.  
Above them, a steel walkway shielded their fair heads.

"Whoa! S-slow down a bit!" She said.

Welp, she was awake now.

It struck her that he was as wide awake as someone needed to be. She could swear he was also sound asleep not too long ago.  
His senses jacked up to high alert.  
He knew what was about to come. Hopefully, the little girl would have the stomach to handle it.

Patty's vision became clouded by something. In the middle of running, something was closing in on them, within her view.

She brought herself closer to 'Dante,' terrified, overpowering all in her way.

"It's alright. You're alright." She heard his voice comfort her. "Fear is _your_ superpower, remember?"

Patty let the words play in her mind for a moment.

So, she tried her best to toughen up.  
However her tiny courage wasn't enough.

From an imperceivable void, nowhere, she felt a rough substance grab her leg and drag her back.

In an instant, she was transported elsewhere.

Helpless screams ripped through her dry throat as she tumbled into blackness, still mid run.

Her hands tried to reach out for anything. She rolled on her side, but didn't scrape her knee.

Strange. She knew she hit a floor.

Once the rush stopped, there was only silence, wherever she was.  
Standing up, Patty opened her eyes only to see nothing.

No light, no Dante.

Her breath pulled back in her throat.

She had fainted; but still, all her consciousness was not gone. She wouldn't admit it, there was hope that perhaps this was a dream.

It feels too real.

What of it there remained, she couldn't define what her mind told her.  
It was certainly similar to a deep sleep, yet she remained wide awake. Everything around her she could feel.

If that made any sense anyway.

"Dante?" She called out to him, "Where did you go?"

An echo of laughter startled her on the spot, wherever she was standing. Trying to walk, her shoes touched the edges of a glass mirror growing in the floor.  
Once her eyes looked down, therein the reflection was Dante.

But he was . . . different.

He had the most menacing smile she'd ever seen, almost like she was watching an eagle ready to eat her.

His cheeks were twisted up to such a degree that he basically looked just like a Harlequin's mask, albeit lacking all the other elements.

"D-Dante?" She whispered and placed her hand on her chest.

"Hehehehmmm . . . Poor Patty. You un-aborted afterbirth." It hissed, "You are going to die here. In this world, nobody wants you . . ."

"Wha- . . . What happened to your face!?" She said, trying her best to ignore those comments, though something told her this thing wasn't what she thought it was.

"You did this to me. The thought of killing you gave me so many happy thoughts, my face just . . . _stayed_ like this." He spoke differently, he acted differently . . .

Was it really Dante?

Nevertheless, tears gathered at the corner of her eyes.

"Why did you say that?" Her voice almost broke.

Dante cocked his head to the side slightly.

"You don't even realize your own mother left you because _she hated you_. Thankless little bitch, it's your fate to die by my hand. I'll scrape the flesh from your bones!"

* * *

. . .

* * *

Through a crimson shift, he arrived inside the building.

The place looked like a normal construction site, converted into an old, abandoned church.

It was dimly lit by several old candelabras, though something alien hung amongst them. It looked like a magnefied soma, filled with red light.  
Suspended in it by some kind of field was Patty. Her golden hair was gently floating, as if it were under water.  
She was motionless, almost sleeping peacefully, had it not been for the pain in her lips. Something was tensed behind those closed eyes.

"Just hold on." He told her, "I'm here."

Vergil took a step forward; and then, beating wings filled the air.

The demon revealed itself to him, descending next to her.

It had a bulky body, with the black wings of a raven. The head of a horned gargoyle sadistically glared at him.

"Ulmarag." Vergil spit the name.

"So . . . you _do_ care for this flatworm. At last, you're here Dante." It's words were almost sarcastic, "Like what I've done with the place? Or are you here to question me about Vergil again?"

The man stiffened up when he heard his name called.

The demon crossed it's arms and laughed.

"I told you I buried him under a hole of fear and despair. You should've listened to his tiny cries, calling for mommy! Aahh . . . It brought me _soooo_ much pleasure."

It revealed a forked tongue, which flicked out and rattled like a snake's.  
Across it's chest was battle armor; a tunic of leather and children's skulls woven in.

Two black spikes decorated it's bulbous chin, and those red eyes mocked him as ever.

Black leather armor adorned it's forearms and lower legs, ending in an attached spike at the knees.

Everywhere else was bare, showing off it's diseased, sallow-brown skin.

Vergil remained silent, unsure what to make of this revelation.

Dante sought revenge on his behalf!

"There's no use, Dante." The demon continued. "Killing me wouldn't wash away your guilt. Vergil will _always_ hold it against you. You weren't there for him."

There came again the feeling in his chest. Choking him, corroding . . .

"You've wrapped up Patty in one of your eggs. What's _your_ motivation, eh?" Vergil said.

"Why don't you find out?" mocked Ulmarag, "But don't expect me to be as easy on you."

Vergil wouldn't want it any other way.  
He would gladly slay the beast, if not for Patty, then for himself.

It dared to hurt him, it dared to torment him, when he was just a boy.

Now again, as a man.

"I guess you're next on my list. Let's go." He said, monotone.

He flexed his right arm, his hand lurching back. Vergil's face was set, daring Ulmarag to make the first move, which it gladly did.

It flew up, towards Patty.

The dark slayer immediately rushed toward it, launching himself up for a punch.

Ulmarag faked him out, swooping around the egg's orbit, then slamming it's large, clawed arm at Vergil's midriff. Crashing to the ground, the man left a depression in the concrete as it crumbled.

Using a kip-up, he returned to stand, though he was met with a barrage of fists.

Defending himself with trapping hands and elbow counters, he attempted to catch the beast off guard.

It didn't work.

Though he exposed a weak point in the monster's offense, when he attempted to take advantage, it caught his fist, unexpectedly.

"Do you think I've forgotten, boy!?" It said as it thrashed him by his wrist into the imported statue of Christ.

He tumbled a bit, no worse for wear.

"I won't forgive our last meeting. Unlike others, I am no coward, son of Sparda." It said, arrogant.

Probably because it held the upper hand. For now.

It's voice was deep, deeper than any human could naturally make their throat descend.  
Vergil hated that tone. It was clear to him now, the Beast had a longer history with Dante than he presumed.

It flew at him before he could summon Yamato, and grasped him by his throat.

"Where are those toys you call gauntlets? Beowulf was a great warrior. You? Are an exercise." The beast declared, snarling in his face with those blackened teeth.

'I _knew_ I should have grabbed those infernal Ifrit.'

So, he resolved to prove it wrong.

Vergil channeled his inner devil and brought his fist into it's hand-wrapped knuckles.

He put enough strength behind it that a crimson cloud burst out from the point of impact. The pressure created a sickening crunch in the beast's wrist.  
It shouted in pain. That was unexpected.  
And so it tried for a haymaker, bringing the rejected fist back.

He sidestepped underneath it, then backed away as the demon swiped horizontally. The strokes looked powerful, but they were slow. Everything those large arms touched turned to debris.

A normal human in his place would be squashed into the pavement.

Reaching it's backside, Vergil rammed a powerful, savage elbow into the small of it's back.

It's whole body shifted forward, spasming in pain for a few seconds as it roared.

A small trickle of scarlet dripped from the welt he issued.

Enraged, Ulmarag shot back, launching a backhanded swing.  
It dozed the young slayer on his chin, knocking him off his feet. Rising a few feet above the ground on it's Raven wings, it thrust it's claws forward in a flash of light.

The air around him shimmering orange, he looked to see his foe.

On his back, Ulmarag spat down at him, "Time to face my wrath, child."

Through the light, figures formed in front of him.  
Slowly, the figures of Dante's life appeared, and eventually, the floor became engulfed with shadows.

First his mother, despairing for his aid.

The figure of his father came next, looking at him choleric.

And the third one was his own doppelganger, bizarrely enough. With the blue cloths and everything.

"Help me!" Eva cried falling on her knees, "Please!"

"You are nothing without me." Sparda took steps forward, "How dare you stand where I stood. You left your own brother to die! You will pay for it, I promise you!"

His own doppelganger came forward.

"I loved you Dante, I wanted us to be a dynamic duo. Unstoppable. I wanted you to be safe with me."

Vergil took a step back, slightly confused. Ulmarag really didn't have any idea how he talked.

Dynamic duo?

What was that?

No wonder Dante was able to fight against this monster's mind games.

"How did you repay me? You killed me." Well, that was closer, he supposed.

Vergil thought about what he was seeing for a moment.  
Were these his own words, is this what he really felt?  
No, he felt his father would probably be disappointed or proud, depending which thought process he subscribed to.  
His mother was far more than just a whimpering, useless woman.

This must be Dante's guilt, manifested to life.

Viewing them as inferior beings, Vergil walked past them.

Each one of them malformed, trying to pin him down.  
Their eyes grew as big as saucers; hysterical. Their mouths twisted into impossible grins.

Their hands grew talons. So, they used them to maul.

He lost track of Sparda, and it sliced him up through the collar bone.

He staggered back, grasping his shoulder.

Ulmarag, watching from afar, gave an excited laugh and pumped it's arm enthusiastically.

He took a breath, and as they forced him to the ground, his own twisted self pushed his head against the ground, clasping it's aberrant paw around his face.  
His fists tightened, his eyes glowed crimson, and his teeth gritted.  
With a yell, he generated an explosion of molten energy, taking his pain away.

The clones disintegrated, breaking apart back into dust.

Ulmarag swooped back into the fray.

It had advantages in both height and weight, but Vergil was no slowpoke.

His speed and agility outranked the tormentor's. They traded blows, the entity refusing to let him get away.

Vergil knew Ulmarag wouldn't go down easy.

He threw out a punch, and their fists collided.  
A burst of negative emotion shuddered through the drywalls.

It shrieked in surprise as the slayer's fist sent damage traveling up it's whole arm.

Glowing red from the cracks formed, the demon clutched the limb and stumbled back.

Howling at him, it swept it's hand and became hidden behind a wall of shadow.

A new set of clones materialized.

They all went for his weak points, scratching, biting, then snagging, scraping, and manhandling.  
His doppelganger slashed open the back of his leg, forcing him onto one knee.

It thumped him across the face, but he stayed still.

It tried again, but Vergil caught the blow. His wound healed, closing up, and he stood eye to eye.  
No, these cracked reflections would not best him.

Not again.

In a rage, he punched a hole through through it's left eye, leaving it to wrangle backward in pain.

His mother charged at him, screaming like a banshee. He dodged a downward swipe and shot his knee into her stomach.

It sputtered, suspended in air. Moving like a bullet, he seized that false mane of hair, and threw her at the brute's hiding spot.

The copy shattered into shards, lacerating Ulmarag's face.

It screeched.

Not so smart now? Couldn't see that one coming?

"You little son of a bitch!" It heaved at him.

Sparda came.

The two clashed together, locking fingers in a power struggle.  
Purple energy erupted out from them, the illusion possessing greater power than any of the others.

Sparda appeared to dominate him, overwhelming his son with sheer force.

"You dare hurt your mother!? You pathetic worm!"

Vergil's eyes glowed, and Sparda showed him it's fear.

"And you aren't worthy to call yourself Sparda." He replied.

Standing back up to the challenge, he readjusted his grip, clasping onto it's claws, digging his fingers in between it's knuckles.  
He twisted his hands forward, placing more and more pressure on it's wrists.

Slowly but surely . . . Crack.

Both Sparda's joints snapped like twigs.

His eyes glistered hostility.  
The clone fell on it's knees, shaking.

Looking up at him, it met Vergil's merciless gaze.

"Begone, imposter." The man barked, grabbing both sides of it's head. He compressed the skull inward, smashing the entity to dust.

Before the body could disappear, he launched it behind him with the eyes of spite, and it, too, collided with it's encroaching master.

Ulmarag had attempted to jump him from behind, it's gothic-leather shoulder-guards protecting it's arms.  
The body broke against it, slicing through the tendons in it's legs and blinding it temporarily.

"Aaah!" the beast cried, tumbling on the ground toward him.

Vergil grabbed it's arm and leg mid spin, and traveled with it.

When it had turned sideways, he placed his knee before him, and plunged down to the ground.

Ulmarag hit the floor, the ribcage splintering inside, beneath the slayer's weight.  
It's hip dislocated, as did it's left shoulder blade.

The man let go, batted away by the animal's pinions.

They carried the injured savage back into the shadow, seeking to bide time.

His back turned, his own clone assaulted him, jumping atop his shoulders to try and force him off-balance. The thing had recovered, still held together by strands.

It wrapped it's arms around his neck, driving him to the ground.

This pitiful manifestation tried so desperately to choke him out, but it's real counterpart rammed the hollow gut with his elbow.

It disintegrated into unreality.

"I'll get you for that, Dante! You think I'd just let you defeat me so easily? You mock me without your father's blade, child!" It's smoother qualities disappeared, revealing a disheveled, rusted-out growl.

It sounded like gravel being set on fire. How wonderful.

With that, he'd had enough.

Vergil summoned Yamato. Gathering the power within the sheath, he backtracked slightly, leaning over his sword in anticipation.  
A cobalt shine cut through the bleak fog. Judgment cut, a power nothing could run away from.

The man held the blade, pouring within it his hate.

In an instant, he released a vortex of azure energy, and forever banished the darkness, slicing through the candelabras and the other church apparel.

Before him, the demon revealed.

He lunged forth, speeding off the ground, and brought with him a sonic slash.

The cut stung, sending a spray of blood into the air, as well as a few white lights. Ulmarag's glaring eyes missed the sight.

"Your soul _will_ be mine, Dante!" It brayed, flying forward, twisting around to gain momentum. It went for a power-infused slug, attempting to catch Vergil by surprise.

It's fist was diverted to the side, caught by a vigilant Yamato.

"I'm. _Not_. Dante." He growled, eye's shimmering scarlet.

It retreated a step, returning it's feet to the ground. Eye's widening, that blade . . .

"What!? No, no! That blade . . . Those eyes . . . _How!?_ " It stumbled, terrified.

Vergil walked forward, consumed with hatred.

"Because I despise you." He answered, his aura growing larger by the second. The demon's thick fingers coiled into fists once more.

It dove again, intent on disemboweling it's old victim.  
It met a salvo of summoned swords, piercing it's armor.

With malice in his heart and madness in his palms, he made them exploded with the snap of his fingers.

The beast was torn and stabbed to oblivion, bouncing around like a pinball within a sadistic machine.

It survived, managing to hold itself together somehow.

Recovering, it rushed toward him and grabbed his throat, lifting the man off the ground. Hot electricity crackled at it's grip, shunting through his neck, and sending him into a seizure.

He felt himself growing weaker and weaker. This old technique. His demonic energy was being sucked out.

In a spiteful thrash, he yelled, and Yamato fluxed.

A bright, royal-purple wave pulsed from the edge as he brought it up for a slash.

The force broke Ulmarag's hold.

It's stomach tore open, the strike burning through it's armor. Any advantage was lost. The creature stepped back, squirming as various veins exposed their nerves to the open air.

The twitching almost looked like a dance.

Enraged and driven to psychosis, Ulmarag roared and summoned up hellfire.

It cauterized the wound, first and foremost.

Despite hurting far worse than anything it ever knew, the tactic brought immediate relief. Through suffered breath's, it's face clenched and became veined.

Vergil fell to the ground on his knees, holding his throat.

He always hated that one. It kept him weak, prevented him from escape. Just like Ulmarag loved.

'Come on. You are stronger than this. You're above this lowly pain.'

He shamed himself.

Before he had the chance to return, Ulmarag smacked him across the face. Metal wires emerged from it's skin and wrapped around it's knuckles, so the blow hurt a lot more.

It knocked Vergil off balance, and it followed up with a fist to his stomach, ramming the reinforced duke as far as it could.

He sailed into the wood pews on the side.

They came apart easily against his weight, fragmenting.

Yamato worked furiously to help him regain his composure. A sudden burst of power cascaded through him. His eyes blazed a furious vermillion.  
The blade surged again, clearing the debris away.  
Vergil pushed himself to his feet. He drove forward, in his hand Yamato, coated in mixed; violet energy.

He met Ulmarag head on.

Slashing downward, he cut through the front of the demon's leg, leaving a giant gash below the ocher, trojan kilt.

The monster pushed the man back, raven wings carrying it high to the ceiling.  
A black aura began to emanate around it. The shadows of every object cried out to it, the entity trying to leech them for strength.

But Vergil was faster.

The Cambion, embracing his darker half, caught them all one by one, overpowering the demon's aura with his own.

Oh, how they felt welcoming, the cool shade rejuvenating the marrow in his bones.

He'd lived in the dark for a long time.  
The umbra obeyed him; respected his stygian spirit.

The air trembled with an unseen force.

"You ruinous half-ling, I should have killed you when I had the chance!" Hollered the brute from above. It charged down for another clash.

Vergil backpedaled, baiting the beast with renewed zeal, and led it on far away from the girl.

It worked, the beast following him out to the edge of the unfinished building, thrashing through stacked pipes and carts with equipment. There were no walls here.

Then, the man did something it didn't expect.

He jumped.

Overcome by rage, Ulmarag would not let the boy escape his grasp again. It tore after him, speeding along trying to claw him . . . Vergil smiled back at his pursuer.

A tainted, scarlet aura erupted from the man's body, and soon it changed.

He released the beast within. The Majin.

Ulmarag lurched back, horrified by the change.

Growing to match the creature in size, he soon grew larger. Four bat wings emerged from his back, and his body became covered in inky, insect-like armor.

Violence had arrived.

He lashed out again, releasing a spine from within his arms, a burning blade of power, slashing the demon across it's chest.  
Followed immediately by a sparking, crimson meteor from his other hand.  
It was blasted far above into the air, and he flew after it. This was his prey now.

Seizing it by the throat, Vergil flew the beast beyond the roof.

Forcing it into the pale moonlight, he glared into it's eyes. Ulmarag was so small now. He laughed in it's struggling face.

Then, without waring, he dragged his foe down, carrying the pest by it's throat.  
Not letting go, he ripped it down into the construction area, slamming into a set of metal rebars.

Blood spewed. The creature howled.

Vergil towered above the defeated creature.

The demon gagged on it's own bodily fluids, while Vergil turned back.

Resuming his human visage, the son of Sparda held the creature's head up.

Sneering, he said, "So, how have you been? You'll forget about this girl, and the person who contacted you. Unless you want me to kill you for real."

A laugh broke through the demon's throat, ending in a fit of coughing.

"He he, you don't know the half of it, do you?" Vergil's shoved his other hand on the demon's throat, forming a tight grip.

"I don't like jokes." Vergil spoke bitterly, "Speak. Whatever you think punishment feels like, I promise I can take you closer to home."

His eyes returned to evil, and his voice deepened.

"A- . . .-Alright. The girl you're protecting is nothing more than a ploy." It was having trouble breathing.

He loosed his grip, and it appeared to inhale deeply, showing gratitude for the return of air to it's lungs.  
Coughing further, it continued.

" . . . Aheh, ugh . . . A ploy," It spat up blood, dripping down the side of it's face, "-For the _real_ Patty Lowell."

What!?

"This one I caught? She's the descendant of Allen Lowell . . . a great trophy I desired. Hehehe, why bother making a deal with a human if it's not for something special?" It quipped.

Allen Lowell?

Who the hell is this now?

However, Vergil could not question the demon any longer.

Taking advantage of his distraction, it vanished within seconds, taking the top half of the rebars with it.  
Enraged, Vergil scanned around, but couldn't spot it.

He screamed to the sky, and smashed his hands down on the blood-stained cement block, crumbling it to tiny pieces.

The force field broke instantly.

Patty hit the ground, crying. Vergil heard her wails, and sprinted with all his speed towards the edge.

Launching off, he fell till he met the right level, and placed his hands out. Gripping them backwards, he swung in and slid on the floor.  
He hated landings like that. Searching for her, he found the girl once more, sobbing to herself flat on the ground.

He ran to her.

"Hey. Hey! Look at me; just look at me." He repeated till she listened.

He could see it on her face, what she'd seen. What Ulmarag had forced her to hear.

"What?" She stammered, oddly enough spitting an attitude at him, as if he'd told her to go to her room.

Well, at least her willpower held out.

"Whatever you heard in there, whatever you saw, it wasn't real, okay? Look at me," He said again, and she did, still hurt, but hopeful, "I didn't say those things, nor do I feel them true."

She was somewhat reassured.

"R-Really?" She said, wiping away her tears.

"Yes, really. It was . . . It was just a nightmare. There was a bad man." He told her.

"A bad man?"

"Yes, a very bad man. And he was cruel. He abused people for fun, torturing them in their dreams. He wanted to hurt you, so he put you in that place."

Her breath stifled a bit, doing that little rapid thing Vergil found annoying usually.  
She made it adorable.

"How do you know?" She asked, wiping at her eyes.

"Because he put me there too, when I was your age."

She looked at his face. It was horrid for him to recall.

"How did you get out?" Patty replied.

"I didn't. I had to stay in there, alone . . . That's why I came after the bad man. I couldn't let him do that to you, or anyone else."

His heart bled for her, for the pain he'd gone through.

Should anyone else be forced to do so as well?  
He once thought so. He used to believe everyone deserved the pain they got.

Patty took a moment to breath. Her hands immediately tugged on the necklace. Those watery eyes enlarged, and the hairs on the nape of her neck bristled.

"I think- . . . I think it's going to be fine then." She whispered, burrowing her head in his clothes.

He didn't know what to do.  
It was awkward for him, not that he was averse to another human's touch.

He just wasn't that close to children.

Vergil slowly placed his hand on the back of her head, soothing her pain as he did his.

"Hey now, don't . . . It's over. It's all right." He said gently.

It took a moment for her brain to register what he just said.

Patty lifted her sleeve once again and examined her marking. Before her eyes, it slowly vanished like magic.

Within seconds, it was totally gone. She started laughing.

Slowly, she adjusted and he set her down on her feet.

"Finally . . . I didn't think-" She couldn't even finish her sentence, she was so happy.

Vergil watched her sadness evaporate. Indeed, it felt nice, and she looked cute as a button laughing, holding those tiny hands together.  
His lips moved to half a smile. It's going to be hard telling her the truth.

Poor girl, stuck in the middle of this mess.

* * *

 **Out In The Street**

* * *

Noises started gathering down the empty boulevard.

Life started again and Patty could not feel any more happier. It's all over. She can be normal now.

However, to her surprise, 'Dante' took her hand and rounded to a marketplace.

"Wait, why are we _here?_ "

But he didn't answer. He just kept leading her on until they stopped inside someplace. She didn't bother looking at the sign as they entered.

Here, they stopped in the middle of an empty store, a large freezer in front of them.

"Pick one you like." He grumbled.

Really? The son of Sparda: reduced to buying ice cream for a child. Hmph.

The freezer was stacked high with all of Patty's favorites, chocolate, french vanilla, metropolitan, chunky monkey, raspberry ripple, cookie dough, cookie's n' cream, the list goes on.

Even tin roof sundae was here.

So much more! So many choices for her.

As her breath fogged up the glass, another customer entered, abruptly cutting in front of her as she tried to make a decision.  
She took a step back and waited until they were gone; this wasn't something she liked to rush.

Vergil suppressed his desire to kill, but the 'rude' woman stopped and looked at him, sensing his prismatic charisma.  
Most devils manifest it when taking human form.

She was there with her son, who was oddly around the same age as Patty.

She was thin, blonde, and cute.

She smiled at him, and he didn't know what to do.

"Oh, sorry, did I cut in front of you? We're new in town." She said to him.

"Like that's an excuse." He muttered.

"Yeesh, I didn't mean it personally. Sorry." She replied.

"Oh, it's alright. I'm just- She needed some cheering up. Had a bit of a fall on the-. . .-playground." He wasn't as good as Dante when it came to lying or going with the flow.

The woman thought his social awkwardness was endearing. At least he wasn't rude.  
There was a nagging fear he might've been, though it disappeared.

Patty kept mulling over the decision, not paying any attention.

"Ah, yeah, I know what that's like. This little guy gets cranky if the drive's too long. What's your name?" She said.

"V- Dante." He replied.

" _Dante,_ huh? A bit out there. I'm Jessica, this is Ryan." She said, motioning to her son.

The boy looked at him aspiringly. He thought his red jacket was just the coolest.

"You look awesome mister." The boy declared.

Vergil didn't quite know what to do, so he just smiled.

"Thanks. My brother- er, 'gave' me this." It wasn't as painful anymore, but it didn't affect his heart any less.

He felt a bit nervous in his stomach.  
This was a woman who was neither a prostitute, nor Mary.

What was wrong with him, he could be comfortable. If Dante could do it, so could he.

"This is Patty." He said, relaxing his shoulders.

The child turned her head, wondering why he mentioned her.  
She saw a cute boy about her age, and about the most gorgeous blonde she'd seen in a while.

She was perfectly proportioned, with a healthy tan to her skin and maroon nail polish.  
Wearing a brown jacket over a green dressy-blouse tunic, and blue jeans with cowgirl boots, she looked like a classy Texan girl.

Was she from there?

"So, where are you visiting from?" Vergil asked.

"San Antonio."

She was right.

"We're here on vacation, though i'm looking into staying longer, maybe." The woman elaborated.

"I see. You here with anyone?" He asked, easing into a Dante-like drawl, "Or is it just you two?"

Vergil remained reserved, but not too closed off. God, balancing between himself and Dante was hard.  
Still though, it was getting easier.

"Nope, it's just us. I'm single, so vacation time is easier." She said, casually dropping the information.

"Well, this town's as good a place as any." He said, then felt a tugging on his coat.

He looked down to see Patty.  
Vergil could see the gears just a'turnin in her head.

"Uh, made up your mind yet . . . sweet-ie?" Oh.

Oh, that just felt wrong. No. No, he wouldn't say that _ever_ again.

She nodded her head regardless.

A young, gawky teenager came out with a misspelled nametag reading 'Jardon.'

"Hey guy's, can i get anything started?" Jardon addressed them as one family unit.

Vergil felt uncomfortable again.

"Oh no, we're not together." The woman corrected.

"Oh sorry, is anyone ready?" He said.

"Yep, i'll have a . . . " As she and her son ordered, Patty wrote something down on a piece of paper, then handed it to him.

Vergil groaned on the inside.

This sucked. Trying to do one nice thing and it turns into a production.

As the guy behind the counter fixed up their ice creams, the little girl approached Jessica.

"Excuse me." She said.

"Oof, hi there!" The woman replied, "What's up, honey?"

"My daddy's shy." She said.

Vergil's head shot forward, and his eyes zeroed in on Patty, wider than ever.

Oh dear god, no.

"Uh huh . . ." The woman said, a bit confused. The girl motioned with her finger, and she leaned in as Patty whispered in her ear.

Vergil heard every word.

Every.

Single.

One.

The woman smiled, and stood back up.

"I see. Well thank you very much." She said to the girl.

The boy at the counter interrupted.

"Okay, your total today is gonna be 10.68." He said.

She pulled out eleven dollars.

"All righty-then, and your change is thirty two cents. Thank you, come again, ma'am!" He said enthusiastically as the two left.

Vergil looked down at Patty, horrified.

"Okay, sorry about the wait folks, what can I get ya?" The clerk said, turning his attention to them.

"Wha-. . . ?" The slayer said, barely turning his head to look.

"Hmhm, What would you like, sir?" Jardon said, chuckling a bit.

He looked down at the paper she'd handed him.  
She'd decided that nothing beats cookie dough or cookies and cream. So she wanted both. In a cup.

A tall cup.

With the store music playing softly behind the noise of the pedestrians outside, she laughed internally at the stupid covers of the magazines next to the counter.

Well, nothing left to do now.

"Are you sure?" He asked

"Yep." She said with a wide a smile.

The two took a seat outside the store. There were a few metal tables and some chairs, so they grabbed two.

Patty sat with a pink spoon and her tall cup, eating. Each bite was just frosty goodness. In a tall cup.

Her joy was boundless, and she wound up getting some of it on her cheek.  
She didn't notice at all, looking like a girl who was trying ice cream for the first time.  
Vergil was scowling, and most definitely noticed.

She stopped when she realized he was staring at her.

"What?" She asked him.

He stayed silent, taking a napkin and wiping off the schmutz off her face.

She laughed and evaded him.

"Would you hold still, child?" He wasn't nasty about it, decidedly remaining light-hearted just a bit with his delivery.

"Yes sir." She retorted, suddenly stiffening up like a board.

He wiped the substance away fully, then threw the napkin in the trash recepticle behind him.

"There." He said, glad it was over, "That's better."

Vergil stayed scowling, sitting back in the chair.

Patty kept on enjoying every bite, seeming to know he was still scowling and just reacting this way to get on his nerves.  
He kept himself reserved, and he just looked at the ground. He decided this was the best thing to do till she finished up.

He heard footsteps.

Good, was it another demon?

"It doesn't hurt to smile, ya know." It was Jessica, Ryan was in the car just a few feet away.

Greeeeaaat.

"Oh, uh hello again." He said, somewhat positive, but lacking any confidence whatsoever.

"Hey, cheer up. Your little gal's looking all better already. Speaking of which . . ." She said, reaching for something from her black purse.

He got a bit antsy.

"Here!" The woman said, beaming a smile at him, "You can thank that girl right there for that."

She was boastful of Patty, like she was his actual daughter.

It was her phone number, signed Jessica S. Mero. That's from Texas, all right.

His cheeks lit up.  
A strange buzz entered his stomach.

Really? How could he be affected by _these_ humanistic flaws?

"Uhm, thank you." He said, unsure how to reply.

"Ahehe, I know you'll come out of your shell sometime." She said, "See ya later."

And like that, she walked to her car and drove away, her boy in tow.  
Good grief, how awkward was that?  
Should he tear it up? Her hotel information was on their too, on the back.

She'd written it on the back of the hotel's greeting card.

Maybe it was better to keep it, he could always use the hotel as a hideout, come the day . . .

Or he should just rip it up. Or maybe not.

She liked him. For some odd reason . . .

...

'Well . . .' He weighed the options in his head.

Vergil pocketed the number his jacket for later, and instantly received a look from Patty, who'd finished.

"What?"

"Oh . . . Nothing." She said, all proud of herself.

He scoffed and threw her trash away.  
The two walked off, getting back on track.

There wasn't much time left now.

* * *

Chapter **End**

 **Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this :)**

 **Thank you to my beta reader Angel Wolf**

 **To Turbo Sexaphonic: I think** i **like you lol - Anyway it's both funny and a little annoying, you understood the point. Yeah I have noticed that too in certain stories**

 **...**

 **Well, StableGenius TR. About the ellipsis. At** first **I did not like it to be honest. But after a** while **I changed my mind. I felt like it does add a kind of charm.**

 **Thank you for your sweet words :) dmc2 could have been something good, there is potential in my opinion but they failed.**

 **...**

 **Guest, it's just I don't like ignoring people. It does not feel right, at least to me. Thank you very much.**


	9. Chapter 9 Never Be Lonely

**Chapter 9 - Never Be Lonely**

* * *

Once they were out in the main street, Vergil's ears caught the sound of something that made him feel angry.

'Thank you Miss Lowell. Yes, it's me. I have been waiting here for awhile now' A woman with short blonde hair was talking in the phone a bit far in the front of them.

So this is the one, the demon talked about.

The real Patty Lowell.

"Yes, it's safe for me to leave."

So the bitch was making sure Patty is alive and safe?

And with that, he took Patty's hand and went with her to the sidewalk. He hailed and almost immediately, a taxi driver felt pulled to him, wanting to come help the man.  
Magnetically, the driver became inclined to be of service, cutting over four lanes and making a u-turn.

"Are you okay?" She asked. Once she took a seat behind the driver.

"Yes. Yeah . . . it's fine. Just tired." He replied and gave the driver the address.

The man smiled and nodded. When's the last time a cabbie smiled at anyone?  
Things were looking up.

"That'll be 28.50." The man said, enthusiastic, and started the car.

Getting the girl to her destination was costly. He needed to get some additional form of income if this was what it took to get his normal jobs done.

"Haah . . . Alright." Vergil closed the door. He was exasperated, staying silent for most of the ride. His eyes watched the scenery, his thoughts drifting towards somewhere else.

His mind had a bad habit of wandering these days.

* * *

 **...20 years ago...**

* * *

It was a cool autumn morning. Children ran around a playground, making piles out of the brown-reddish leaves. Then they'd jump straight in, just to hear them crunch.  
A few other's had some family pets, like golden retrievers and one had large Great Pyrenees. They were all beautiful.  
The pieces of those leaves scattered about in the air and flew like feathers on the wind.

A couple of picnic baskets scattered about, with the mothers and fathers helping their children up onto the monkey bars.

There, a seven year-old, cheerful little kid played in the swing. His arms were wide open, and his eyes closed, like he's welcoming the wind and the beautiful feeling that followed it.  
Right next to him was his brother, standing up and pushing himself as fast as he could.

"Honey, that's dangerous. You could fall and hurt yourself." Eva shouted, anger hidden with each word she said.

Her blonde hair danced along the chilling winds.

"Don't worry! I'll be fine!" The tone of his voice changed every time he fell up and returned back.

He then felt her warm hand touch his shoulder and push him a bit faster. Vergil opened his eyes and met her gentle blue eyes.

Eva smiled back at him.

"Five more minutes, then we go back home, okay?" She said loud enough for both to hear.

* * *

He grunted and lowered his head, holding it between his hands. Why can't he stop thinking about this?

Why; everywhere he goes it triggers a memory.

"Enough. I don't want this anymore." He thought to himself.

An attempt to clear his tired mind but it wasn't any use.

"Are you feeling well, bud?" The driver asked.

He pulled himself back to a rigid, upright position.

"I'm fine. It was a long day." He grumbled.

"Yeah I feel ya . . . I had to wake up early so I could get the customers in the rich district. It's a real pain, but otherwise I can't make enough to make ends meet." The man said casually.

The rest of the drive went silent and smooth.

. . .

Patty stepped from the taxi car, gaping at the large mansion that set them beyond the sidewalk, towering over her as if attempting to intimidate.  
The cream coating of the paint shined as the sun beat down, causing her to have to squint. Uniquely twisted fencing kept the house enclosed, neatly trimmed hedges surrounded the house.  
Up above, the roof was peaked, slanting down at an angle.

As she stepped onto the sidewalk, she noticed a marble fountain sitting towards the right side of the lawn.

An angel held a flower, perched atop, looking up to the sky. Water spurted from its other hand, which lay gently out in front of it's robe, waiting perpetually for someone to take it in return.  
The water fell gently towards the crystal blue pool beneath it, causing ripples to form and wave out until they were no more.

"Patty . . ." She heard 'Dante' call her name, in a tone she could not quiet recognize. He knelt down to look at her, "There's been a mistake."

"What do you mean?" She wondered.

Dante paused for a moment trying to find the proper words for this.

"You've been tricked. _This_ . . . Isn't your home."

The words made her wheels turn for a moment, before it clicked.

"You mean the man who died isn't my dad?"

"Afraid not." He shook his head, strangely coming across as more 'Dante' unintentionally than when he tried to do so earlier.

"Remember the woman we met before we arrived here? _That_ is the real Patty Lowell. She'll inherit all this."

Patty frowned and crossed her arms.

"So you're telling me I went through all of this for a-. . . A stupid trick! Why did you even bring me here? You could just take me back to the Orphanage or something, seriously."

She was hurt.

Vergil raised and eyebrow, a bit surprised by her reaction. But she's right, getting marked by a demon and barely sleeping for 2 days.  
Witnessing the pantheon of Ulmarag's cacophonous trickery was punishment enough. But all for what? Some selfish woman who would go home pleasantly and claim her fortune.

"Let's go meet the cause of your misery." He said." That's why I brought you here . . . for justice."

The two entered through the double door and they were met by two armed servants.

"Hey, who do you think you are?" One of them spoke, aiming his gun at them.

Patty moved to the side slightly, while Vergil gazed at him, eventually countering with a smirk.

"Ah, my apologies. Where are my manners?" He said and placed his hand on his chest.

"You see, I'm miss Lowell's bodyguard."

The other man came closer to his co-worker and prepared.

"Damn right, you can't just bust into a place like this. Get out, or we'll shoot out."

Oh they thought they were _so,_ what with there cheeky little peashooters.

Patty tugged at his arm like always, worried.

"It's not worth it." She whispered. The little girl actually knew what went on in his head.

Vergil simply placed his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back.

"Go ahead, shoot me if you're brave." He said, relaxing his hands and keeping them at the ready.

Patty was never sure what it was they saw on his face at that moment, because she was behind him, out of their view, but whatever it was, it made them run to the hills.  
They practically tripped over everything in their way, scrambling like little insects away from a spider.

"Cool." She commented, holding back her laugh at the ridiculous sight.

So they continued up the cleanly carpeted stairs.  
Vergil stopped at the peak for a moment.  
Judging by the smell, there were three men . . . and an artificial demon.

'Times up, we did it. The fortune's ours.' He heard someone say.

'Turns out the message is just fake, there is no Patty Lowell.' Then the sound of the door followed, where that woman entered.

"An artificial demon. Interesting." He murmured and went to the left hall, jogging. Before he could touch the handle he sensed the power radiate quickly.

Vergil motioned to Patty to stay back. He took a breath and kicked the door using the strength of his left leg.

There before him stood a dark green, abnormally thin demon, who still possessed humanoid features, albeit stretched out.  
A blonde woman slumped to the side, terrified.

His eyes shimmered red as he summoned the phantom blades. A circle that spun till it was a blur, ramming itself into the creature as he cooly strode to the enemy's position.  
A loud growl broke through the building as the attack left it stunned for a moment.

He rushed forward and leaped above the creature, ultimately crashing his boot down onto it's neck.  
That loud roar became replaced with a sick hissing as he summoned a sword and shunted it into it's forehead.

And the beast was done.

There was some gunfire. A flick of the wrist and their heads came free.

All that remained was the misery.

She who was to blame.

So he stared behind him at the cowering woman.

Those human eyes gazed back at him, surprised and confused.

"So, _you're_ the one who paid me to protect Patty. Were you trying to feel better about yourself, considering all the horror you put this child through?" Turning as he said this.

The woman stayed silent, fear chilling itself on her spine by just looking into those cold orbs.

Those eyes . . . They were the blackest she'd ever seen.

"I . . . I never." She stuttered.

Vergil smirked and started pacing slowly toward her. His mind raced to find the torment, scanning through his mind palace's index of all the things he could do to settle this.

"You deserve punishment. Just like them." He snarled.

The woman squirmed back, until she touched the wall. Her hoarse breath was going to make her pass out any minute.

"N-no! That child!" She pointed, "I can take care of her! Please, let me take care of her. I-. . . I-I can make amends for my sins!"

"No." He said plainly.

"What!? Why not?" She said, desperate.

"I don't trust you." He replied, chuckling a bit at her preposterous offer.

His hand reaching for Yamato.  
If Dante ever wondered why he didn't desire the presence of female company much, this is one fine example.

It seems their mother was one of a kind. No one's worthy.

"Wait, whoa! Dante!" Her pleas didn't gain a response, so she tried again, "Dante! Dante stop! Don't- You can't hurt her!"

He kept staring, intent on making up for the mistake of letting Ulmarag go.

" _Dante!_ You told me _no one_ should experience the kind of pain Ulmarag put you through _, don't be the one to inflict it!_ " The young Patty finally bellowed at him, breaking his concentration completely.

He looked at her, taken aback.

Tears ran from her face as she tried to understand this convoluted man.

He remained silent, suddenly ashamed of what he was thinking. It was this Patty's voice, and her's alone that stopped him. His expression softened slightly.

"But Patty-"

"I know, I still can't believe all of this. But enough! No more." She interrupted.

Vergil closed his eyes for a second.  
It's the child's choice, since it's her problem.

"Fine." He relaxed, receding the Devil back behind the wall of his soul, and started backing away from the woman.

The woman started to gain her normal breathing, but her mind still focused on that bargain.

"Patty! Thank you, please consider staying with me. I can help you out; the inheritance, all this, the money . . . we can live together live a family! I promise."

Patty stared at 'Dante,' prying for his thoughts, though she knew they would not come.

Finally, he looked back at her, frankly dejected.

"I think . . . I think it's safer for you to stay here." His words sounded bitter, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

The little girl looked at him, confused, shaking her head without a question.

"I want to go back with you. Please?" Patty said, her voice beginning to break.

He wouldn't hear of it.

So another tear fell to the ground.

"But, I finally have a daddy to hold onto."

The word daddy sent a shock down his spine.  
Did the little girl really see him like that? Of all people, she's actually happy with him?

A part of him wanted her to stay around a little bit so badly, that kind of person made him feel . . .

No, it's better for her to have a stable home. Unlike that infernal Orphanage.

Vergil sighed to himself and knelt down to her once again.

"You can still visit me in the shop, anytime ya want." He spoke in a soft tone, more in-character than he'd ever been.

His eyes darted back to the confused woman, then once more to Patty.

"And if that woman does _anything_ to you, I'm one phone call away."

Without hesitation, Patty embraced him, burying her face in his shoulder.  
And he could feel her urge to cry, but she held it back.

She held onto him for what seemed like hours, refusing to let it end, even though they all knew it had to now.

She finally let go, choked but dry at least.

"I won't forget what you told me . . . " She said, barely keeping her voice.

"What's that?" He said, retaining a stoic face.

"Fear is my superpower. And I'm so afraid." She said, the words moving through him like Dante's bullets.

Oh god, was it too late to take it back? It was.

"I'll come for you tomorrow." She said into his arm.

Vergil rubbed the back of her head.

He chuckled and pulled back from her, "I'm sure you will. You're a brave, if not stubborn, girl."

The girl smiled at him, acknowledging his successful sarcasm.  
Patty allowed a bright smile to grace her face, and she placed her hands on her hips.

"Yes, I am. I can hold my own well enough."

Well, that was good enough for him. If he stayed any longer, he'd never leave.

Vergil started walking toward the door, before he glanced at them one more time.

He addressed the woman, "You see me again, it won't be good for you. Run. Or, do what you promised."

"I will." She replied without a hint of hesitation, albeit terrified.

. . .

He did not feel like going all the way back through normal transportation.  
So he went for an empty alley and made sure no one was there to see him.

Vergil drew Yamato and placed it to the side, summoning it's powers. And with a swift movement he made a cut through empty air. Midnight energy erupted from within the steel of the blade.  
Once he drew it back, a portal ripped open before his eyes. His fast way back home, where he belonged, at least for the time being.

Once his shoes touched the portal, dark energy flow through him, and a bit of dizziness followed the motion.

It took him a moment to balance himself, but it was fine. He did this before and he should be fine doing it now. Once his vision cleared, he was at Dante's bedroom.

He wanted to sit and be alone for the rest of the day, have some peace of mind, since it was already nightfall.  
However the scent in the place stopped him.

It's her. She's there at the door.

'Perfect timing, I need to talk to her.' He went out of the room and through the glass decorated door.

He could see the light in the place was still on, as usual.

But before he could do anything, Lady kicked the door and entered without saying anything.

Fully armed and ready.

"A knock and a hello would be more appropriate when entering someone's home, don't you think?" He addressed her a bit annoyed.

Lady sighed. Her eyes held determination, that much he can tell.

"Tell me why? Why did you say it to me? What gives you the right to judge _me_ and label _me_ weak?" She growled at him.

Vergil crossed his arms.

"So, you're seeking answers from me."

"I can't believe how much you've changed Dante." She said in disbelief, adding, "You used to respect me and my choices. One of the reasons I believed in you."

Vergil bared his teeth.

"And you should wake up and realize running away from your past'll make you fall to your weakness. I know this more than anyone else!"

Lady was silent for a moment, taken aback by the change of tone.

"My past is already settled. I moved on with my life. Looks like you forgot to."

Once again she could not read his expression at all.

She couldn't understand him anymore.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted you . . . I can't believe you used my own history against me. Do you even realize what that name symbolizes for me?" She then spat at him, landing a saliva on his boots.

"I just called you by M- Your birth name." He corrected himself, as he knew of her bizarre sensitivity.

"You still don't get it. You didn't just call me by that . . . awful word. You insulted my very core! You completely erased and stomped on my progress _as a human being!"_ Lady then realized it as she said it.

She eyed him with a sense of recognition, finally.

"That's it, isn't it? You lost whatever humanity you had on that island."

He scoffed at her proposal.

"Don't be absurd."

"It's not absurd. You talk like you don't have a soul! You treat me like garbage! If you lost your human side, all that remains is a demon."

"And what is your point, little girl?" He chided her.

"You are, reluctantly, my enemy." She was dead serious.

The man's eye's flared widely, and both his fists clenched.  
The callous grin he'd built melted into a scowl.

An indigo aura arose from him.

"You whore, what do you know!? Shut up! Just shut up for one moment and listen to what _I_ want to say!"

Lady rolls her eyes and gave a condescending chuckle.

"It's all about you isn't it? You selfish bastard!"

She insulted his humanity.

An odd angle. He'd never been questioned on this front, and it felt . . . This wasn't something he'd ever experienced before.  
His temper flared, rage becoming an overwhelming feeling.

. . . No.

No, she wouldn't disrespect him so, not anymore.

"Enough talk! You insipid _bitch_ , how dare you!" He snarled through gritted teeth. He became aggressive in his stance, looking like he was ready to pounce.

Lady drew her twin guns and aimed at him.

"I couldn't agree more, demon. Fight me. Right here; right now."

Vergil couldn't help the smirk that crept in his face. Were those little things a joke? Nothing of the mortal plane could harm him.  
A perfect chance to see what she's capable of, despite this limitation.

"You want to play, _Mary_? Fine, I accept." He derided her name even more than he'd ever done before.

Her own anger flared and the corners of her lips winced.

Strangely, she didn't fire. Instead, she holstered the weapons and turned around.

Lady had a winning look in her eyes as she went out of the door and waited outside for him. She started checking her guns one last time to make sure. This fight will count.  
She didn't even really understand why they were fighting, but she knew she had to.  
It was for her own self-respect. Lowering the magazines in a quick motion, everything seemed to be in tip-top condition.

Her finger tightened around the triggers and the barrel turned around as Lady spun.

A gloved hand wrenched the pistol out of shape.

She flinched out of reflex. Lady knew the man was fast, but was he ever this quick before?

"Dante . . . " She muttered.

Like a damn rookie, the woman used her left fist to punch his grip off.

He let go ahead of time, letting her sail awkwardly past her own weapon.  
Vergil grabbed her exposed wrist and tugged her forward, thrashing her to the floor. She rolled and drew another gun, aiming and firing as she stabilized into a slide.  
He kept hiking towards her, never changing pace; zipping to the left, then the right each time she adjusted her aim.

The man never broke stride, appearing to casually teleport from side to side.

Then, he disappeared in a red shift, and rematerialized above her. His foot came down on the firearm, crushing the chamber again.

She threw both both her legs at him for a one-two combo, hitting his thigh.

It felt like a cement wall. She felt him seize her blouse roughly, picking her up off the floor with his left hand.

When they were level, she rammed her elbow down into his bicep, trying to break the hold. Luckily, her lapel ripped.  
His hand came away clutching white fabric as a new bullet rocketed into the center of his forehead. His head jerked backwards, staring at the sky as she released a frenzy of strikes.

The man just stood still, letting her pummel him as he calmly reached his hand up.

He smacked her across the face, forcing her off balance.

The man dug the cartridge out of his head and glanced at it, unimpressed.

She stumbled back a few feet, creating a gap between them as he dropped the shell. They exchanged glares, caught in a standoff.  
It was a desperate move for her, but if she could bring her sub out in time, she might be able to riddle him with slugs too fast to dodge.

Huffing and puffing, she clenched her fists, then flexed them out.

Okay . . .

She went for the weapon, trying to bring her hands back in front of her as fast as she could before he could react. She'd waited right up until he'd blinked.

Lady got off an entire clip, though only the first few shots had hit him before he chose to fix that.

They really only bruised him, failing to pierce his skin. These were his brother's clothes, and she just put a few new holes in them.  
He shifted out again, only reappearing in front of her right as the storm ceased. No time to reload. He launched into a barrage of jabs, placing her on the defensive again.

It was akin to fighting a kickboxer, often having her guard broken and her weak points exploited.  
He kept overwhelming her, delivering vicious strike after vicious strike until her nose started to bleed, and her body ached.

Lucky for them, there was no one around to see their fight.

He placed a flexed hand out to the side of her head, away from from her sight in a flash.

She looked at his gloved palm out reflex as his other fist rocketed into her jaw.  
It was so powerful that she twisted around onto her knees.

He got annoyed by her physical resilience. Anyone else, and their jaw would have ripped off.

She was dazed nonetheless, and so he gave an extra kick to her back.

Lady launched forward on her chest, sliding on the ground a few feet. The entirety of her front garnered scrapes and bruises.  
She stopped eventually, and lifted herself onto her back, hurting.

Lady stayed on the ground, embarrassed and confused. She couldn't bare to look at him now.

Vergil watched the young woman trembling to stand.  
Her pride won't allow her to show hurt to him, the one who won.

Too bad he had to hurt her like this just to witness it.

That bitterness in her eyes was like his. In that way, they were actually quite similar.

Wait.

Was this a sense of empathy for her?

She's insolent, she deserves it.

Contradicting emotions churned in his mind. Patty's words rung true to him.  
They played over and over in a tape loop.

How selfish of him.

"I must say, I'm impressed." He said. Getting her attention. Lady's eyes met his for a moment.

"Why, that I tore up your favorite douchey coat? Spare me your arrogance." She was resigned to defeat.

It always worked like that for them, despite her confidence and skill.  
Dante _always_ beat her, no matter how many years she could use training.

Vergil felt anger boil within him, but he knew better than to lose it and do something worse.

"And you should realize it and accept the truth. What is a vulnerability to you sounds to me like truth, and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren't always comfortable, but they're never weakness." Mary will never find anyone who realizes this truth more than himself.

It's ironic, and so painful to admit it.

"I know your attitude. I know your reaction. You're scared, you wouldn't react so apish otherwise." Comparing her to a simian was just a step too far.

She glared back up at him.

He knelt down in front of the woman and placed his hand over her temple. She batted away his hand, and he just gave her a stern look.  
Rebellious to the end.

So he came in closer, intent on holding his hand to her head, whether she wished him to or not.

"Damn it, you're like a child-"

Thats when she took another gun and thrust the barrel in his mouth mid-syllable.  
She clasped her hand around the back of his head tightly, pushing him into the stalk, then pulled the trigger.

It felt like a grenade going off in his throat.

Lady had used a silver gun with strange engravings on the side. That was . . . Ivory.

How'd she get that!?

The attack caught him off guard, and he suffered as the demonic weapon actually hurt him.  
For the first time since getting back, he was _hurt_ _by something_.

He clutched his blackened lips, the back of his head smoldering on the blacktop. He belched up blood and smoke.

She stood over him, dominant now, though still injured.

"Wanna tell me about my 'weakness' now?" She asked him, sarcastic, "You should really keep an eye on your weapons cabinet."

He sputtered a broken swear through dark fluid and fractured teeth.  
A special bullet made for a special target. Demons like himself could be harmed by the weapon.

Clever girl.

She pointed and unloaded five more bullets into his body, shooting off two fingers on his left hand, and burrowing shell after shell in his chest.

She leaned in after having her fill.

"I want this to be perfectly clear. In all your moments going forward that you'll spend trying to feel superior . . . in your deepest, darkest personal reflections,  
I want you to remember the only person that ever _beat_ _you_. _I_ am Lady. _I_ beat a devil. _I'm_ still standing and . . . 'stronger than ever,' I believe you put it." She derided his logic and his beliefs.

His own defense was shattered by a dirty surprise. She put another bullet in his jugular, then tossed the gun on his bloodied chest.

"I know this won't kill you. It's not really my intentions.  
But try to remember that I could have killed you if I wanted. We're not friends anymore. Don't call me: I won't answer." She told him.

Continuing, "Don't try to find me: I won't be found. This is the end of the line. Though I suppose with that lying face you could always find a way to never be lonely."

Vergil laid there, copper filling his broken mouth and draining periodically.

His healing could fix almost anything. Almost. Infused bullets were a different deal altogether.

Lady limped over to her motorcycle. Grabbing the Kalina Ann, she hoisted it over her shoulder.

"See ya around." She declared.

She felt vindicated, but exhausted.

Turning around, it took her a few minutes to get her gear all in place on the cycle as she prepared to depart.

A sudden, sharp pain splintered through her right leg. A summoned sword broke apart and faded from reality, leaving her with a highly painful, potentially lethal wound near her femoral artery.  
She collapsed and screamed out of rage and frustration.

"AaaAAAHH- NO!" She cried, " _IT'S NOT FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR!_ IT'S NOT- not- . . . It's not fair!" Trailing off as she grasped her wound vigorously.

Vergil had called upon his dark half for assistance, but the injuries made transforming painful.  
He settled for advanced regeneration instead.

Dante's pistols always hurt the worst, and it was partially for that reason that he despised guns, apart from considering them dishonorable.

The man retained the first shot that ricocheted out his cheek, and the second directly in his throat, possessing blackened, blood-stained skin on the left side of his neck where a giant wound remained.  
His eyes burned red, reflecting ambient light into the darkness.  
They were so serious, feeling like the eyes of an archfiend. This devil was wounded.

He walked over and sat beside her.

She kept screaming to the sky and to him.

Vergil sat silent, appearing to zone out into his own thoughts.  
Lady kept her wound as pressured as possible, but she knew she'd probably die here.

Then Vergil spoke.

His voice was crooked and broken, still damaged and shredded.

"Crushed and broken next to a bleeding out pin-up model. Yes . . . the height of my week. At least my garb's been restored." He rasped, noticing the preservation of Dante's clothes.

She punched his shoulder, and once again felt like hitting a truck tire.

"You asshole! Why!?" She lashed out at him, "What the hell happened to you!?"

"More like what hasn't happened, dear." He said, sighing. Even his sighs sounded sickly, "This fight is, and was always destined to be pointless."

She ground her teeth, feeling that if she would die, she'd take him with her.

"You killed me, first emotionally, now physically." She told him.

He ignored her comment, instead looking back at her sadly.  
It was the first emotion she got from him in a while.

"You won't die. You're too strong." He said, catching her off guard.

Something really somber lingered in his gaze.

". . . What?"

"I don't think I'll forgive you for that gunshot, but it pales in comparison to the things I've done . . . If you think I've lost my humanity, you'd be wrong. _Dead wrong_. But I've definitely suppressed it."

She was shocked at his opening up to her. What other things was he referencing?

"It was always easier for me not to think about it. If I had enough strength, I wouldn't be weak like others. I grew to feel my humanity was a weakness." He looked at her.

A mixture of anger, resentment, and acceptance was on his face.

"I thought you-. . ." She trailed off.

"For the longest time, I was under his control. I couldn't break away from it, I was just a walking prisoner. And in all that time I always thought back on my family, seeking them for strength."

His eyes grew sad and cold.

"So that's why I feel the way I do. Beneath my father's power, I buried the humanity because I didn't want to feel this way anymore."

She coughed. The blood loss was starting to get to her.

"I-I . . . I thought-"

Just as before, the man reached for her temple, and oddly enough, she let him do so this time.  
He rested it calmly against a wound on the left side of her forehead.

The Cambion closed his eyes and started chanting, using what he learned to heal wounds.

Lady felt like cold water ran from her brain to the rest of her body.

Slowly but surely, she felt her body relax and her knotted muscles heal.

The last to go was the pain in her hip.

Lady just stared at him speechless. She couldn't find the proper words to tell to him.  
'Dante' has changed alright, having become something of a gentleman, or so she guessed.

Was there . . . something else that got to him on that island?

"All this time, I thought you and I were different enough that my pain was my own." She replied, "But you've felt this way haven't you?"

Against her better judgment, she allowed him to touch her waist and help her stand up.

Instead of answering her, he returned to their direct situation.

"You cooled off yet?" He asked grimly.

"I think so, are you gonna be okay?" She reluctantly complied with his desire not to talk further, noting his retention of the wound and the impact on his vocal chords.

Holding the wound, he stared back up at her.

Deadpan, he retorted, "Oh yeah, I'm fine."

His voice was thin, barely there at all. It had become this horrible, raspy death grunt.

"Are you sure?" She said, feeling regret weigh heavy on her back.

"Oh nothing, it's no problem Lady."

The man sounded just like a decayed corpse trying to suddenly speak after fifteen years . . . or her idea of what that would sound like.  
In fact, he sounded like a haggard black metal singer.

The exact sound could be described vaguely as gravel and shards of metal being shoved into a blender, and then hitting frappe.

It pained him so badly to speak.

Surprise wrote itself across her face.

"Did you just call me Lady?" She wondered out loud.

Awkward silence fell between the two.  
Neither of them had a word to speak.

He let go of her, feeling close contact would embarrass her. He couldn't count on himself not to seek revenge anyway.

Annoying or not, she earned that right.

"I don't understand you, half-breed." Was the only statement she was able to say for the moment.

"So what? It's not fair? You expect me to breakdown and cry. I'm not- I don't operate that way.  
You _want_ me to speak about how much the demons traumatized me? I'd rather just respect your choice to run." Vergil questioned her pessimistically, then returned to silence.

His eyes focused on the devil huntress.

She huffed a long, exhausted sigh of indignation.

"Look, I need the change, I need the positivity in my life. Dwelling in the past only hinders you from moving forward." She said to him.

Vergil watched the shift in her eyes, the tremble in her voice.  
Indeed she showed a fine strength against him, even if she failed to truly hurt him. Who would've thought Arkham's spawn had this quality in her?

No damsel in distress was she.

"I find you strange too, witch. But I guess I understand your reasoning." He replied.

"Okay, what the hell is it with you and conversation these days? Witch? Seriously?" She wouldn't tolerate his rudeness any further.

"You do have witches blood though, that was not an insult." He said, pretending he didn't know. She hissed a dark stare at him, "Right- Whatever it's your choice."

He felt the genuine need to tell her so, then continued, "My head's not right. Hasn't been for a while."

"I could tell." She said.

Well that was a bit impolite herself.

So he switched gears again.

"Tell me, why are you so agitated with the mere mention of your past? That sounds, to me, like running away." She gave him an evil eye, so he added, "I'm not one to be frightened."

Tensions heated back up.

"Nonetheless, it's over. I won't mention it again." He relented, decidedly avoiding any more combat, and cooler heads prevailed.

Lady's face was riddled with questions and she wasn't sure which one she should start with.  
Her angered face had been softened within seconds.

However her tongue spoke involuntarily with one sentence.

"Thank you." It was a faint of a whisper. His ears twitched up at them.

He wanted to say 'you're welcome.'  
At least give her some kind of levity after giving her a hard time.

The moment was cut short when he heard it again.

A venomous laughter. He perfected his stance and his eyes observed the place around them.

"Where's that coming from?" She asked him, knowing of his better hearing.

He struck back a look of shock

"You heard that?" Vergil said.

"Y-Yeah. It sounds familiar for some reason."

"It's- . . . It is your father." He said, dropping all attempts to hide his speech.

He immediately seized her wrist and had her come with him to the front of the store.

"That's- No. No, _no no no,_ you did _not_ just say that!" She retorted, despite being dragged.

"Go inside." He ordered, and though she was very reluctant, she complied.

He closed the door, and said to her, "If we lose it, it might not come for you."

She couldn't follow his logic all that well.  
Her father was an 'it' now? How does that work?

How did he even know?

. . . Had he met him recently? That brought all sorts of other troubling thoughts she'd finally lost track of.

Lady followed anyway and once her shoes touched the floor inside, he slammed the door shut. Dante stood in front of the window watching the night.

He hurried her into the bedroom and motioned for her to get inside the sliding-door closet.

Lady heaved a long shudder and stared back at him. No reason really . . . At least thats what she convinced herself. However deep down her heart was sensing something new.  
For the sloppy friend who bloomed into a well spoken man, she despised the arrogance. As much as it pains her to admit it, she kind of liked the new guy.

The old Dante was a slob, and if they'd had this falling out, he probably wouldn't have been so nice to heal her.

Then again, a lot of things would be different if he'd never gone to that island.

He successfully got her into the tiny compartment, then shut the door.

"Are you serious!?" She yelled after a minute of hearing him ruffle around.

He opened the door to talk.

"What? What's wrong?" He said.

"I'm supposed to help you out! That's how it _always_ works. Before you went to that island and after!" She angrily told him.

He responded as Dante.

"Huh. Guess this'll be an exception then." He said, sliding the door shut.

She banged on the door loudly, so he opened it again.

"What now?" He said.

"I'm fighting him with you!" She yelled in his face.

"No . . . No you won't. He's different than before, you don't want any part of him, trust me."

His response frustrated her to no end.

"Well, I won't spend my time in here! You need help! Especially since you stopped using your normal weapons. Bit of a dumb move by the way." She commented as his wound unexpectedly twitched.

It splurged congealed blood out onto the door at excruciating cost.

He almost vomited, making the motion and the face, but it was just a dry heave, followed by unbearable coughing.

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me." He croaked as he grabbed the side of his neck, "Nice move. Beautifully done."

Vergil's sarcasm could be just as gold as Dante's when he felt like it.  
His voice still sounded awful, like he swallowed a knife and about 3 tons of cigarette ash.

He heard shifting feet and claws outside and looked to the side, towards the bedroom window.

"Don't worry about those old things. I'm going to break out a new classic." He said shutting the door again.

She just sat back against the wall in silence. Another minute passed by.

"Tch . . ." She exhaled.

Fine. She put a bullet or two in his throat, after all.

Vergil rummaged through the cabinet, looking for that weapon he'd placed away. It was the one thing on his mind, the one regret he'd had since leaving.  
Where did he put those infernal things anyway.

It was a small battalion, gathered out his front door, huddled in anticipation as Arkham stepped forward. There were many now.

It took some more time, but eventually he found them.

Ifrit.

It'd been a while since he used Beowulf, but these two infernal gauntlets would be useful.  
Yamato was getting a bit stale, even though it was his preferred weapon.

He slid the weapons on, and immediately felt an intense burn. They seared to his flesh, binding themselves to his very soul, warping to fit his forearms.

After a bit, the pain evaporated, and he admired the draconic design for a second before returning his attention to the sounds outside.

Travelling downstairs, he thought to himself about Dante's resolve, his fearless drive.

"Well, as you would have said, it looks like a party awaits me. Isn't that right, brother?" He muttered aloud to himself.

He banished the gauntlets in place of Yamato, choosing to use them later in the fight.

Lady came out from the closet and went to the window. She drew the blinds and slid the window open to the side.  
She drew her guns and took aim.

"No way I'm sitting back and letting you kill that bastard without me."

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Thanks for reading this! I hope you enjoyed this :)**

 **Special thanks to Angel Wolf, my beta reader for helping me.**

...

 **Thank you Turbo Sexaphonic, Angel wolf is amazing, he is the one who actually help me keep the fights polished and exciting like this.**

 **Enter Sandman. It's actually suppose to remind you of that a little bit :)**

 **StableGenius TR, oh wow I'm happy ^_^ I'm glad it worked. I do feel creativity here will benefit the story so much, I don't want to copy and past the anime events but with Vergil.**  
 **That will be just boring and the story will fail. I'm a big horror fan so you could imagine how this helped the inspiration of Ulmarag's powers and design.**


	10. Chapter 10 Becoming

**Turbo Sexaphonic: Oh yes, I love this picture :) Perfect for the story**

* * *

 **Chapter 10 - Becoming**

* * *

Vergil stood in opposition to Arkham and his forces. So he'd finally arrived.

"What brings you by?" Vergil asked casually in that trademark baritone.

"Anything I cannot control, I must destroy." His former ally said, his voice uncommonly gravelly.

The dark slayer just scoffed at him, but he knew Lady was watching.

"You _won't_ destroy me." He scowled intensely at the resurrected mammon.

The demons scattered, trying as best they could to surround him.  
His voice hadn't recovered yet, just barely managing to come out of its guttural resort.

From behind, he sensed a gaggle of flame bats.

"Make your move . . . _Devil boy!_ " The entity shifted into Jester mid-sentence.

Vergil's mouth winced.

He flicked his thumb up, unsheathing Yamato. As it flew out, he grasped the handle and released a whirlwind of slashes.  
As the bats circled, they were chopped up, dismembering into mince meat.

An encroaching wyrm felt beheaded, it's draconic mouth sliding off its snout.

He dashed forward and tried to attack his mortal enemy.  
There was no need for the cannon fodder, this was between them.

Alas, the jester disagreed, and unleashed a shock wave that blasted the Cambion back onto the stone steps of his shop.

His durability was fairly high, but the impact cracked some of his ribs anyway.  
Quickly, the body began to heal almost instantly, snapping them back into place.  
All the minions leapt at him.

Vergil shot through the air from his position, and sliced clean on out of three Sargasso's.

The floating skulls withered on the vine, fading out.

He traveled in an arc, flying like an eagle until his boots crashed into the sack an Arachnid-type demon called a Kyklops.  
It floundered up as it's sack then split open directly in two.  
It was Vergil's trademark handiwork alright, the slice a completely dead-on, perfect line.

Miniature versions of the insect spewed forth and scuttled around.

The man stomped on one of them and felt a wave of pain travel up to his neck.  
Really? Even stomping had a bad effect on the wounds in his throat and it gave him forced pause.

As he stumbled, two malformed grim reapers tried to rush him with their scythes.

Deja Vu . . .

A missile whipped past his head, and the two were consumed in a spectral orange fireball.

Lady.

Her Father looked up and smiled at her, that unmistakable jester bringing back all sorts of horrible thoughts.

Arkham began to move forward.  
A katana met is throat.

"Take another step forward: I take your head." Jester initially looked perturbed, as if the piddly little fool actually stopped his plan.

The look of worry quickly bled into a knowing, disgusting face of enjoyment.

"Thanks for the tip, brainiac. But I think I'd prefer a _female_ dance partner this time." The twisted man said.

In another instant, Vergil flew back and hit the wall.

As he fell forward, a Sin with scissors emerged out from the ground like a phantom, and impaled him through the stomach.  
Vergil gasped, and blood fell from his mouth.

Lady took aim with Ebony.

Might as well use it when you have it, right?

A bullet rocketed through it's cloak and dispelled the entity's defense.  
The slayer smiled, he unleashed a sonic slash that dismembered the creature and landed; the wound closing by itself.

But the smile quickly vanished.

He looked back at Lady scornfully, "Get out of here!"

This didn't go over well.

"No, you need my help!" She yelled back, "He's my father!"

A scarecrow wrangled behind him and flummoxed it's massive blade arm into a slash.  
Without even looking, the man flipped backward up into the air, dodging the razor that was just inches from his face.

Thrusting his right arm out, he impaled the creature through the head with a thrown Yamato.

It's sewn body burst open as demonic essence evaporated into nothing.

The blade remained, and he grasped the sword's formerly occupied handle.

It was large and curved; a typical scarecrow's blade.

He regained the Yamato in his grasp and dual-wielded the weapons as he battled a myriad of Fausts.  
They did their best, launching their red pincers at him. Occasionally, they got off a stab or a graze.

He killed so many, but they just seemed to keep coming.

Two blades were better than one though, so he was able to do well for a perfectly long stretch. But his handicap took its toll.

Every swing shot pain into his sores; every nervous pulse made his swing waver.  
He wasn't used to this pain.

It was almost too much.

At least, for the most part, they were unable to touch him . . . at first.

He unleashed a torrential rain of light prisms that exploded into bursts of sword gashes on contact.  
But there was just too many, they swarmed and bloodied him, his body running low on energy and his reflexes reflecting this lack of stamina.

Eventually, he collapsed onto the ground, the dual blades proving to be a bit of a cumbersome tactic.

Though he'd thinned the herd, those that remained were still many.

It wasn't looking good for him.

On his knees, he felt three punctures into his left arm, and the scarecrow blade hit the floor. Freed from his grasp.

He fell forward, but used his right hand for balance, the stabs retracting out of his veins.  
The rush pulled him forward.  
His tendons twitched and he barked in pain.

The pavement became littered with flecks and pools of his human half, the blood refusing to crystalize.

Lord knows he didn't want it to end right there.  
But this had to be the end, there couldn't be a way forward.  
The beasts were closing in, he couldn't escape.

He was _hated_.

A salvo of rockets came to his aid, destroying the creatures physical forms partially.

Reacting swiftly, the Dark Slayer unleashed a flurry of twisting slashes that finished them off, using seemingly the last of his strength.

He then turned back to the window to Lady.

"I told you, _get_ _OUT OF HERE!_ " He screamed, a beastly undertone beneath his wrecked voice.

She didn't even say anything, instead repeatedly opening fire on her father and those around him.

She had Uzi's now.

That stupid huntress will get herself killed.

"Why are you still here!? I told you to save _yourself_!" He bellowed, but she once again refused, this time responding.

"He's _my_ problem!" She retorted, "I told you once, I'm here to stay."

She realized somewhere along the lines that she could just speak normally, and he'd hear her.  
Perks of being part devil, she supposed.

'Damn it! Stubborn . . .' He thought to himself.

Though not in a good position, he still had something yet untapped.  
It pained him to do so, but he began to call on his other half.

Those pesky throat shots were making him pay a few more dues than he should have.

While it was easier than last time, he still couldn't bring himself to trigger.

It was just too painful.

The brutish, burning pain in his gullet felt like nothing in this world.

Even so, the rest of his wounds healed up quite nicely, yet the throat remained porous.

Summoning that energy left him a bit tired, and he fell to one knee.  
Jester strolled up to the man.

"You're looking a little sketchy there!" He said, his face plastered with glee.

Vergil scoffed.

"That's not even a pun." The slayer responded.

"Ah well, whats another hole in the head?" Jester asked, then burst into a fit of laughter.

That one went too far for Vergil's taste.  
He scowled at the ground, the laughing making it all the more horrible an experience.

The other demons began to approach, lurking for a kill.

But the clown raised his hand, exerting control over them.  
He held the monsters at bay, keeping them spectators for a bit.

"I'll tell you what. I'll let you live for a while . . . if you submit and join _me_. It would give ya some color at least!" The fool laughed, his statements angering Vergil.

" . . . What!?" He said in disbelief.

Jester stopped laughing.

He looked at the man and stood still, having done a little Harlequins dance in celebration.

The look was sincerely disturbed, made all the more soul piercing by the complete darkness surrounding those purple irises.

The demented stare made Vergil uncomfortable, as the buffoon twisted his head to the side, mouth gaping open, as if waiting for prey.  
He took a few steps towards the man, rapidly dodging bullets from Lady with ease.

He never broke stride.

Running his red, inch-long nails against Vergil's chin, he looked him straight in the eye, that long nose coming troublingly close.

It looked like an eagle's beak strapped to the front of a plastic surgery addict.

"You heard me, think about it. You've gotta come work for me, _downstairs_ \- you'd love it! Nobody tells you when to go to bed.  
You get to eat . . . all the ice cream you want! You get to kill! All day and all night . . . Just like the sick devil you are." Jester finished, just as a bullet hit one of the two bells attached to his head garb.

The ball fell down on the ground and rolled.

Jester didn't even look as he waved his hand, mystically forcing the window and it's shutters closed. Lady herself felt a force push her away from the window, and her own pistol was sliced in half.

The man grew closer, putting that freakish snout nearer and nearer to Vergil's face.

"So kiddo, whaddya say?"

Jester smiled, his teeth just as warped as his personality.

A red-hot metal gauntlet crushed his face in, shattering that huge honker on his face.

Vergil, brandishing Ifrit, put a stop to this direction immediately with a good, old-fashioned right hook.

"I refuse." He put it simply.

The attack ended with a big burst of flame that sent the figure off his feet.

The clown went sailing, whisking through the air all the way across the lot.

He crashed into a tall, barb wired fence gate that blocked off an adjoining alleyway.  
The impact bent it out of shape as a result of his unmitigated velocity.

He flipped over from the leftover momentum, landing directly inside a dumpster.

The plastic lid broke beneath him, and he fell into the refuse.

He let out an annoyed scream and sent his minions back into action.

Placing a hand onto the cracked lid, he managed to pull himself up out of the waste, and spit out a rotten banana peel. There was a black trash bag hanging on one of his head-tails.

"A fella could _really_ learn to _hate that guy_." He said, maintaining his clownish persona.

The first to approach Vergil was a Blade.

The lizard lunged. Nothing a roundhouse kick to the jaw wouldn't fix. He coated it in fire and sent the creature flying.  
His boot collided with the over-grown reptile, and tore off it's jaw.

The gloves quickly underwent a reforming, molding themselves further to his forearms, becoming slimmer, more practical.

Soon, the metal dragon's mouths fit snuggly around the flaming gauntlets inside.

Chains manifested, and wrapped themselves around the outside, tightening the decorative dragon design around his arms even further.

His fists burned perennially, but they didn't hurt.

The flame was one with his fighting spirit.

And that was something he had plenty of now.

Following the metamorphosis, he zoomed forward and machine-gun-punched a Nobody's face with thirteen hits.  
The mangled nightmare squealed in it's backwards-ape fashion, and he quickly moved to the side, where he shot a knee into it's mid section.

The creature practically flew into orbit, though he leapt after the monster and summoned a second platform from shear energy.

It was a crimson rune with which he launched himself further.

Flying past the Nobody, he delivered a spiteful punch that shot the multi-limbed animal into the ground with a fiery shockwave.

Multiple creatures burned in the light, and the tar crumpled out of order, collapsing into a slight sinkhole.

On his descent, he flushed both hands down, breaking the helm of a leaping reaper that tried to avenge it's temporary compatriot.  
It's head liquefied into molten chunks of rock, and Vergil used the body to leap further in mid air.

Upon keeping himself airborne, he rolled through the sky, and lunged on a hellhound.

It did what a mutt would naturally do, trying to overpower him with a lunge, but the slayer's fist punctured it's esophagus, as he sent the attack down into it's open mouth.

The hound's body obliterated into ash around his arm, and he was grounded once more.

A scarecrow came his way, aiming it's leg-blade for his face. He ducked out of instinct and sent a punch into it's torso.  
The egde just barely cut the hairs on his head.  
Fire erupted from his palm, sending it flying into a gaggle of others of it's species.

Burning his way down, he was assaulted anew by Frost demons.

He quickly glanced over to see Jester working a summon as he wiped garbage and muck off of himself, having climbed out of the dumpster now.

"Insane humorist." He muttered.

Speeding along past another Blade, he delivered a straight punch to the Frost's gut, sending the icy fiend back, though it survived him.

As it recovered, the komodo-esque demon bit unto the gauntlet, but shattered it's teeth on the weapon.  
Retaliating, Vergil delivered a harsh slam-strike that cracked the impenetrable crest on it's head.  
He followed up with a blazing uppercut. Ending mid air, the attack released an explosion that set more enemies on fire.

The Frost began to melt and collapsed to the ground, it's defensive frost shield destroyed.

Vergil landed with his side to the weakened beast. He lifted a hand to it, and charged up a flame.  
After a moment, without even dignifying it with a stare, he released a concussive blast of inferno energy.

Engulfed by the flame, it broke apart, atom by atom.

A group of sinful reapers then appeared within his vision. They were like the ones unleashed during Temen-Ni-Gru, except they were wearing distinctive, jester-like outfits of a royal purple shade.

'Never imagined I'd see these weaklings again.' He thought to himself.

Glaring at them as his jaw set, an ancient power coursed through his veins.  
Pulling his leg to the side, Ifrit began to charge power, from his knee down to his foot.

Burning relentlessly.

Hungry for blood.

The savages growled and came forward with their scythes at the ready.

Vergil drove his foot into the face of the first one that dared to get close.  
He melted it's face with molten pressure, and his foot caved it's skull in until he pushed it's brain out, searing it out to the stem.

It died on the spot.

Right behind him, near the front door of the shop, she stood.

After taking care of a couple of demons from standing over the window, the bounty hunter had joined the fray in person.

"Damn it, Mary . . ." He grumbled. Thankfully, she didn't hear this from so far.

Lady took cover on one knee, drawing her twin, 004 Beretta's. The knurled grip felt at home in her palms, and she couldn't wait to feel that ear-shattering roar.  
She fired off both clips. The bullets snickered through the air and into the flesh of familiar demons.  
She rolled aside as her leg swept out, in an effort to catch a fiend nearby. She fired two shots upwards into it's groin and abdomen, it's scythe clattering down on the ground.

Her third shot took it in the head.

She leapt to her feet and immediately taunted.

"Make it rain."

Putting her guns close to each other on opposite sides. Shells poured down to the gravel as their occupants plowed through the demons nonstop. They fell one by one, surprisingly.  
You'd think her dad would be smart enough to summon tougher demons.

Swiftly, she released the empty magazines, ready to reload.

Lady holstered them and lifted her machine gun, her mouth twisting in anger as sheer adrenaline pumped through her muscles.

 _This_ is her job.

Once again she felt the thrill, the sense of liveliness burst through her.

'Hell yeah.'

She braced her feet with experienced control, and pulled the trigger. The powerful sub began to spray across the street, thunderously bursting out acidic rounds.  
In a satisfying purge, Lady murdered all the infernal creatures that were caught in it's range.  
Dispatching almost all the red Sins and halving the population of reapers, which crumbled almost instantaneously at the relentless hail of bullets.

A remaining Grim attacked her with it's scythe, the black robes and whiny face annoying her just as much as the smell of the thing.  
She countered with her leg, dodging the downward swing and then wrapping her thigh around it's forearm. She crunched it's joint back, snapping the arm like a twig.

Lady held unto the demon, pinning it down as best as she could.

"All yours." She called out to 'Dante.'

" . . ." He reluctantly played along, but answered with silence.

Speeding along, he brought his arm into the demon's chest for a wrestling-style tackle. The tactic worked, blowing out the entity into dust.  
Just then, a hulking troll tried to snatch her up, but the slayer defended with a weltered fist.

It's sheer size enabled it to absorb the blow well, though it was still stunned.

Vergil summoned Yamato and pulled forth it's power.

He launched an upward swing into the beast's chest, easily lacerating it's diseased skin and shooting it back off it's feet.

"Pathetic." He whispered. Focusing, he released a judgment cut in it's path.

The demon fell to pieces by the time it hit the wall.

And so he continued his attempts to convince her, banishing the weapon.

"Escape. He's not worth it. He's my problem too." His sentiment mimicked his brother's unknowingly.

He noticed the tone in her legs. All this time, he'd never really looked at her because of how he viewed her father.

No, now is not the time for that.  
The man helped her stand, but she rebuffed his statements.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

She stood and placed Kalina Ann's bayonet into the ground. The weapon started charging, almost pumping up for a moment, smoke rising from within.

The shots came thick like a blizzard, hailing over a group of hellion Lusts, hungry for her blood. The tin projectiles cut through the cold air, oblivious to their purpose.  
The Lusts were beautiful creatures, resembling the ideal woman for any northern society: busty and scantily clad.  
Only strips of dark armor covered any of their exposed top, and their lower body was completely submerged within a skin-tight layer of solidified tar.

Each one missile ripped into something, be it inanimate, or living. From them spilled tree sap, as their bodies were of the same fibers as mother nature.

There was a time that the one pulling the trigger might have felt something; remorse, guilt . . . compassion even.

Not anymore.

These creatures deserved _no_ mercy from her.

Vergil retreated, prepping Ifrit for a new maneuver that popped into his head. The last gaggle of Lusts launched, one at a time.  
It was sad for him to destroy something so darkly perfect, as by comparison to human women, at least these brand of succubi were able to provide him with a certain psychological comfort.

They also made for good company on long, lonelier nights, when Mundus permitted his forces reprieve . . .

Though rare, the old Lord occasionally knew how to keep the loyalty of others, outside of fear and brute strength.

He crouched low, then drew his gauntlet back in a horizontal line, sinking it all the way for a full throttle swing.  
Throwing his fist out, his whole body moved forward in a red shift.  
The operation took the creature apart, his knuckles stopping the body dead.

All it's back burst outward a mix of blood and organs.

The entirety of it's nervous system tore itself apart, flying out and draping over the ground.

He felt his shoulder graze a scythe, but he ignored the tiny sting of pain. He brought his fists together and exhaled.

Eyes glowed a malevolent vermillion.

"My power shall grow absolute." His voice echoed.

Three newly arrived Frost's entered the fray, their powerful cryokinetic aura proving a match for his spiritual flame.  
They all teleported away, moving faster than Lady could perceive as she exhaled out her pent up nerves.

She quickly got up to aim, taking out a few more encroaching monsters.

The foursome had really seemed to disappear.

Out of nowhere, they rematerialized on the surface of a building, colliding in a spectacle of hellfire and permafrost.  
The explosions between them were almost as amazing as how they'd just completely disregarded the meaning of gravity.

They were fighting high up on the side of the structure.

It was the tallest building in the area, an apartment complex by the look of it.

She opened fire, trying to kill anything, but they soon disappeared yet again, leaving behind frozen flames and char marks.

Odd.

It was like playing the waiting game.

She killed any others that approached, often finding it difficult to concentrate on whatever it was when the party would randomly reappear, often with neither dominating the other.

Eventually, as Jester continued to summon more monsters, she was forced onto the defensive.

No more Dante to rely on anymore, he was preoccupied with his elemental counterparts.  
Those new gauntlets were certainly spiffy.

Undoubtedly a new aspect he'd taken from his experiences on the island.

It reminded her of Beowulf, strangely.

As she protected herself with the Kalina Ann once more, they zipped back into being, Vergil finally being overwhelmed as ichor surged from his reinstated neck wound.  
One of them got off a lucky shot with a projectile ice shard.  
His legs buckled and he fell to the floor, coughing and rasping, the spike melting but still lodged in his neck.

"Damn it!" He growled, not even resembling a human.

Now it _really_ looked bad.

Together, the unholy trinity combined their powers and overcame him, covering him in blasts of glacial vigor.  
The cold showered over him, suppressing the spark of the Devil Arms.

In time, he too felt himself become slowed and stiffened, until he was surrounded in a strange, crystal like substance that was clear as frosty glass.

Vergil was stuck, frozen solid inside ice.

Lady let out a gasp of shock as the trio worked their magic, leaving her truly alone in this fight against Jester's somewhat-rejuvenated forces.

Where did he learn to do that anyway?

Arkham was certainly powerful before, but this was beyond him, beyond the ability of humans.

She had to think.

Could she blow him out of it with a missile? No, he'd probably shatter.

Shit!

Dante was essentially beyond saving.  
Was this really how it ended for him?

Dad zipped over, remaining in his comical outfit.

"Well! Hello there toots, haven't seen you in a while!" He was so jovial it hurt.

She raised her launcher at him but he overpowered her, just like old times.  
The fool twisted her around and put an elbow into her back, sending her into the ground.

" _Really?_ You think I'd fall for that old trick again? Fool me once, shame on you! Fool me twice . . . Er- _still_ shame on you!"

She didn't find him funny.

"Once a bastard, always a bastard." She responded pointing a pistol at him.

"Oh-ho! Cute! I missed this little game of ours. But how about this? You put that gun away . . . and give daddy a kiss?" His face got that demented glare back, eyeing up her body.

His tongue slithered out, licking his razor-thin lips.

Oh god.

He wasn't serious was he?  
 _There's just no way . . ._

"You're disgusting! I would rather kill myself!" She said, harshly rejecting the notion.

"Hehe, come now Mary, either way, incest is a game the family can play." He retained that sick look, making her realize, to her horror, that he wouldn't care if she was alive or dead.

He laughed at his little rhyme, dancing.

"N-No! You sick monster!" She howled at him, refusing to even acknowledge that he was her father.

"That's right, kiddie! Daddy's home . . ." His grin turned the most sinister it'd ever gone.

He would get what he wanted any way he desired.  
It was just a matter of what shape that body was in, really.

As he took a step forward, and she shot off as many rounds as she could.

He flashed over, grabbing her by the throat and throwing her up against the wall of the shop.

"You have matured into an even finer woman than your dear mother, Mary." And Arkham was back, the clown receded, whispering, "You'll make a excellent ritual."

He ran two fingers up her thigh as he kept her head pressed against the wall.

She screamed for anyone.

Then, they both heard a sinister growl.

It was that of a beast's, raging far above their level as the street lamps vibrated and the ground began to tremble.

In one moment, a sudden burst of pulverized ice exploded out, tearing through numerous demons, save for Arkham, who shielded himself, and by extension, Mary.

The Frost's were unharmed by there own element.

There stood a blistering being, in place of Vergil.

Driven by vengeance, his skin was basaltic, horns coiled back over his skull from his forehead, and his body was accentuated with golden armor.  
In place of a normal set of facial features was a solitary eye; the dragon's eye, from Ifrit's outer-shell.

Much like his brother, Vergil tapped into the weapon's _true_ power, breaking beyond his previous limit.

Arkham simply stared.

"That's a problem." He commented.

Motioning lightly with his fingers, all remaining devils lunged.

They all died to his fists.

In a hailstorm of sulfuric wrath, Vergil slew the lot, unleashing meteors of his own life force.  
Happiness slowly found it's way to him.  
The thrill of it: this new power was just what he needed.

On the outside, the eye that graced his face blinked once, as he raised his left hand and sent pure, scarlet versions of his summoned swords their way.

Unleashing a psychokinetic field of them, he impaled every living demon, eradicating everything but Arkham and Lady.

Nothing was spared, and he stood there at the epicenter of the carnage, completely emotionless.

Tranquil, even.

The pure rage in his attacks and the burned nature of his new form intrigued his old ally, who watched inquisitively as he systematically destroyed all those in his dominion.  
When the purge was complete, the dust cleared, and he scanned for the source.

The Bald man finally appeared in front of him.

"Scum. _Die_ . . ." A drastically different, indescribable voice rung out. It sent chills down Lady's spine, and he charged toward the object of his recent obsession.

He had once timed himself at six strikes per second using Beowulf.

Even though Ifrit was a slower beast, at that moment, it felt faster and more satisfying to him.

Surging with the fury of Sparda, he pounced. A double palm heel blow to both of Arkham's cheeks ripped downward along the skin and collapsed onto his throat;  
stepping under and into his instep, Vergil shot an elbow upward into his abdomen, past his flailing arms, taking his center;  
transitioning into a palm heel strike to the groin that popped something like a bubble;  
and back into a rising elbow to the underside of his chin, scraping off flesh;  
arcing down into another palm heel onto the bridge of his nose.

The victim had bitten his tongue in half on that last one, completely and utterly dismantled.

There were no wind ups, no wasted motion. Each movement was designed to roll naturally into the next.

The opponent's body jerked from one direction to the other, in rhythm to the opposite lines of each attack.  
Blood spattered from his nose, and his whole face warped and crumbled. A mystic fire burned his throat ever so slowly.

"Every little thing that you've ever done to me, to her . . . you're feeling now." Vergil snarled, looking down on the destroyed man, "What brought you here?"

He was sociopathic; disturbingly calm.  
It didn't bother him to hurt this man, not at all.

In fact, it felt good to get this aggression out of him. He'd been repressing it in Patty's midst.

Arkham trembled like a meek flower in the wind.

As if he were a windup doll, he suddenly brought himself up on his knees.

There was a sickly crunch when he did so. Every bone was broken.

"You never cease to amuse me, blue one. _Still_ , you can't realize it, can you?" Arkham chuckled.

Continuing, the hideous man boasted.

"After all these years . . . 'You took a great trouncing Vergil.'" The man recalled his other voice, and a quote from long before.

"You've let revenge cloud your vision so easily. To the point your own mind can't see what's right in front of you." He continued.

Vergil froze, confused by his words.

He knew Arkham would never say anything unless there was a meaning behind it.  
See what? What was it he couldn't realize this time?

"The hour is near when the Lost son shall come forth, And the Red soul will ride out from the North. But dark is the path appointed for thee . . ."  
Arkham blurted, half laughing.

He began to shift into his alter ego.

A line of light split the air behind them.

It was enormous, almost filling the whole field. It rotated upon itself, and traveled high up in the atmosphere.

Vergil was caught partially in the column and felt a change.

"You scumbag!" Lady screamed, charging at him.

In the midst of her stampede, she felt a strong palm clench her head, coming from some supra cosmic plane almost.  
Her eyes saw colors, and she felt her body slam into the pavement roughly.

She moaned in pain, her guns were lost from her hands.

Vergil remained still, fog clouding his eyes.

He tried to do something, anything at all.

He tried to help her stand up.

But . . . every breath had encouraged him to take Yamato out and slit his own throat.

He suspected this was _his own_ madness: the terror that releasing his power would cause him.

Jester looked down at her with his usual, manic grin.

"Time to sleep, my darling daughter! You'll finally be reunited with your mother . . . After _I_ have what I want, of course."

Vergil snapped out his Devil Trigger, the urge relinquishing him back to reality.  
As he came out of his stupor, his sight took hold of Arkham.

Lady gritted her teeth, and, without much thought, she slid forward and swept her leg around, catching the man off guard.

Her powerful leg ceased his balance, and he clumsily toppled back.

Vergil, resolved, came forward and slammed his foot down on the sadistic man's chest.

They could hear his ribs re-break.

"Time-. . . Time to get some answers from you." He spoke coldly, a bit exhausted.

However, within seconds, the manipulator's body started bloating until it exploded into colored, silly confetti.

Dead silence dominated the place.

Lady pushed herself up, breathing heavily, and she sat in an adjusted lotus position.

"Well, that was different." She panted.

Vergil stared silently, and leaned over, grasping his chest.  
His heart didn't feel completely right.

After a while, she eventually spoke up again.

"How could he come back . . . ? Why was he here?" She asked, terrified by all the implications of this encounter.

"Good . . . *inhale* questions." Vergil replied, feeling haggard and worn.

His throat wounds had gone though.

"How did you heal like that? I thought bullets from your gun made long lasting injuries on demons." She asked, eyeing him over curiously.

He sighed, banishing Ifrit in favor of Yamato again.

"I cauterized the wound using the flames." He replied, a certain cynical tone hung in the air.

"Stupid question, but that hurt, right?"

"Blindingly so. I almost fell unconscious. You're lucky I managed that at all." He replied to her statements.

At least in these post-battle throes, they could be friendly with one another, and Vergil _did_ feel it was a nice reprieve.  
Perhaps they could become friendlier again in the near future.

"However you did that . . . Thank you." She was resplendent when kind.

He hadn't noticed that before.

In any case, he straightened up after a few minutes of lingering.

"Right. Go home. You need every ounce of rest you can get." He didn't feel like standing here anymore, what he heard had bothered him.

His guts screamed, trying to tell him that something life-changing is about to happen, but what was that?

He began to walk to the shop's doors, uncertain.

"Dante?" He stopped and looked back at her, half his face bathed in shadow.

"I-. . . Want to apologize for shooting you before. It's just what I feel-, you barely can trust anyone when it comes to this stuff." She stopped to take her breath.

What she said next, took him by complete surprise.

"And the mere thought that my own friend could . . . 'Turn' . . . Like my own father? I can't bear that. I'm sorry."

Vergil took a shaky breath, then stiffened up, as if it hadn't effected him.

"Since you apologized, fine. But I'm not your partner." He said, but decided to spare her fragile feelings.

Experience with Patty taught him wisely.

"But it's good that I can count on you in these situations. I probably would've been in serious trouble, had you not interfered." After a little bit, he mustered it up, "Th-Thank you."

She blushed a bit, and then gave a closed smile.

"You're welcome." The Lady responded, then sarcastically added, "You should know me by now."

* * *

 **one hour Later**

* * *

Vergil walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hair.

"Finally, peace and quiet." He whispered, after closing the front door. It felt like forever since last time he'd been here.

He went over to the couch.  
From the moment he sat there, the coffee table nagged his mind.

The dust lay thickly, as if a volcano exploded ash all over it. It was a depressing, dirty grey.

"For the love of- Come on, Dante. You don't care about your office?" He rolled his eyes.

Speaking of the place, it was about time to do a serious change if he was going to live here for awhile. It's too much for his tastes to keep returning to such a half-empty, unprofessional office space.  
He stared at the desk, and his mind went over several thoughts of what he could do here.

"I got it." He shouted and left the couch immediately.

Time to work, just a little bit, before he could fully rest here.

He searched through the drawers, until he stumbled upon a magazine in the last one.

Skimming through the pages, in a hurry.  
Just to see if something could catch his interest.

"There." He picked up the phone from the desk receiver and dialed the number.

It still felt odd whenever he had to use newer things like phones, but he was adjusting okay.

"King's company, for the best furniture and fast delivery to your liking. How may I help you." He heard an unenthusiastic man's voice come through the other end.

He'd done this before, obviously.

"Yes. I was wondering if you can deliver my order tonight?" Vergil replied.

"Um, all right . . . Can you give me an address?" The employee questioned after some silence.

Vergil looked around. Of all the things not to be written down.

"Hold please." He set the phone down on the table and immediately got up to inspect the outside area.

After ascertaining the information, he returned quickly and told him what he wanted.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh . . . Weeeellll, Sir, it looks like you _are_ in luck. We don't have many jobs tonight . . . But, we won't arrive to your place until, like, _*hushed muttering*_ I don't know . . . Like, 4 hours?"  
The man was unprofessional at best.

"I can wait, I'm a patient man. I'll give a good tip if you're honest with me." He spoke calmly, almost politely threatening the man, "So let me ask you again. If I place an order, _will you deliver tonight?_ "

He exerted a certain amount of mechanical rage in the second half of that sentence, the supernatural rime behind the words . . .

Beautiful.

They made the man suddenly step back in line.

"Uh-uhum, yes sir! S-Sooo, what'll you choose . . . ?"

After a moment of silence, he replied,

"I want the cinnamon-cherry finished desk, and the dark burgundy leather chairs. There should be two black wicker ones included for the chess coffee table. Throw in some country-shade bookcases."

". . . Nice choices!" The man responded, impressed, "Anything else?"

"Yes. I'm thinking . . . Deep indigo curtains and two copper table lamps. Huh, maybe four actually . . . How much will all of this cost?"

He could here tap noises.

"With all said and done, arooound six grand, Sir. A discount, since you ordered more than one item. Are you sure about this?" The man had become a much better employee on the spot.

"Yes." He answered, albeit hesitantly.

"Alright . . ." Some more tapping, and then, eventually, ". . . Okaaay. Aaand thank you for choosing King's, I hope you'll be comfortable with our stylish furniture."

Vergil breathed in hard and hung up the phone.

One thing is settled.

At least one.

He started to empty the content of the drawers. Papers, faded photographs, outdated case files. Jeez, Dante never got rid of the right things.

And in the middle of them all, he spotted bill papers.

Ignoring the others briefly, he zeroed in on the statements.

"Seriously Dante? A months worth of Pizza . . . A 'compensation for destroying someone's fancy car,' never seen _that_ one verbatim before, and . . ." He stopped.

He refused to believe what his eyes were seeing.

No.

No. No, it can't be real. That can NOT be real.

This must be a twisted joke for him.

In which case, it wasn't funny at all.

"Strip club notices?"

His hands scrunched the papers.

"I- No . . . No, no, no, no- Betrayaaaal!" He yelled at no one, "Bee- _trayal_! Betrayed me!"

Of all times, _now_ was when his voice cracked on him.

No other word came to mind.

"Betrayal! I can't- No! **No!** I can't believe this- That didn't just- I didn't read that!" His cold voice reaffirmed itself to it's usual tone, like he was about to murder someone.

"Good grief. For shame Dante, for shame! You're Sparda's son! Hell, aren't you _Eva's_ son? What would mom think!? Anti-Christ! You'd lower yourself to shady clubs?"

Then again, he realized he doesn't know Dante that much.

He has no idea what happened to him, having only caught up when the two reunited again, roughly a decade ago.

He swallowed a lump in his throat and closed his eyes.

A poor attempt to hide his displeasure.

"I think I just threw up in my mouth."

He imagined the way this town's clubs would be.  
Gangly women with all kinds of disease dancing to the sound of trap music.

Sweet Black-fricking-Sabbath, the _awful_ trap music.

He'd been to one of these a while ago, not by choice, mind you.

It'd gone over about as well as a car crash, strippers giving 'private' shows for money, just suck on men who neither looked handsome nor visited the gym.  
Then there was the drugs. People snorted cocaine _everywhere._ Like _, all the damn time._ Out of the back, there was this guy who was selling heroin.

He left it a burnt hole in the ground.

The concept itself just grossed him out after that.

He spotted another recipient on the bill.

Morrison.

"Oh- Oh come on! You're supposed to be a legitimate business man, not a low-class pimp!" He complained.

However, he did recall his own companion.

A young raven-haired woman. No whore that's for sure.  
Actually . . . come to think of it, she reminds him a lot of Lady, barring the different colored eyes-

"No! No-no- way, not allowing myself to even go there."

So anyway, he had this woman, for a short time. It never went anywhere, a mistake he ended fast.  
He never knew what she did for a living, she always told him she worked as a legitimate dancer down at the ballrooms across town.

That was a good point, he never did question if she told him the truth.

He was just too preoccupied with his own goals at that time. Not to mention, he isn't much into relationships. He preferred loneliness, and likes the time alone with his thoughts.

Or at least he used to.

There was something about the way he and Lady operated today that had him questioning that part of himself.

"I wonder what happened to her?" He wondered aloud, "It's for the best that she never saw me again anyway."

Focusing back on the task ahead, he took the frame from the desk and placed it on the ground next to the other.  
Holding both sides, he carried the desk and went for the front door.

He placed the worktable close to the door. Who knows, maybe someone will take it and use it for something.

He returned and closed the door.

"I should call someone and put a proper lock on this thing." Glaring back at the wide office, the floor was kinda clean but . . .

Nah, still too empty, and unlikable to his eyes.

Perhaps a carpet that goes from the front door to the desk.  
Maybe another one over the sitting area.

And the lights . . . He had to do something about that. Maybe have a chandelier in the middle to give the place a much better look.

His tastes were gothic, as he viewed the gothic fiction era in America with favoritism over the common drawl of the modern author.  
Huh, the more he had this time to reflect in such a foreign environment, the more he realized certain things about himself.

Would that be normal in a human's eyes? Not many people like that era of literature.

. . . Or even literature, anymore.

Anyway, his preferences for this style was reflective on his taste in atmosphere and environment.

"Most of the money will be gone over fixing up this 'lame' place." He rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot, brother. I don't know what were you thinking when you collected all that outstanding debt, but . . ."

His expression once again changed into confusion. Remembering what he heard from Arkham before.

What did that little poem mean?

Red soul? Lost son?

Son. . .?

Within seconds his eyes widened like dinner plates.

"That's not possible, he must be trying to play me, and nothing else. That's inconceivable."

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Thanks for reading this! I hope you enjoyed this :)**

 **Note: I know this chapter had a really dark twist of event there, Lady is in her dmc 4** **appearance in case anyone is wondering, I did describe her as such in earlier chapter. Anyway if you guys believe it's too dark to add this to the story, tell me. How do you feel about it?**

 **I can update a version with that part removed, I have a different** **approach** **there.**

 **StableGenius TR: Thank you :) It's just I'm trying to keep Vergil realistic and in character, I mean he is a man now, not the same teenager hungry for power. He matured. Not to mention what started it all. Dante's death. Yes you are correct his thoughts about her changed, no way like he imagined, and after this chapter he is even more** **comfortable** **with her. Oh wow I'm glad it does** **benefit** **the story so far. It's what I planned from the start to have flashbacks and more of a heartwarming memories, after all what happened within the first chapter. Part of the plot. I have to work it good and thank god it's flowing so far.**

 **Thank you very much, I love your in depth thoughts you share with me.**

 **Special thanks to Angel Wolf, my beta reader, for helping me.**


	11. Chapter 11 Daylight Again

**I deleted some of the more negative reviews so I can organize my thoughts and keep things straight, that is all :) I answered them at the end of this chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11 - Daylight Again**

* * *

 **Years Ago**

* * *

"Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty!"

Hide-and-go-seek was their game of the evening.  
Two days of rain with no signs of stopping meant mud, mud, and more mud. Vergil already knew where Dante were.

They always hid in the same spot.

Twins like to stick together, it seemed.

"Where could he be . . ." He muttered convincingly, as the younger twin giggled somewhere in the house. He tiptoed down the hall and peeked into their room.

"Oh well, I'll never find you! Maybe . . . here!" He shouted as he dropped to the floor and pulled the covers back.

"Err, guess not . . ." He continued searching the empty space under the bed, "How about . . . here!" Shouting again at an empty closet this time.

'He really is make me work for it this time. I never imagined he would get more creative,' He thought.

Nothing in the bath, no one in the laundry room . . .

He knew Dante was too scared to venture into the basement without him, but decided to check after he'd exhausted all other options.

Vergil noisily stamped down the stairs to announce his presence, hoping to elicit some giggles and shuffling.

"I'm going to find you!" He sang.

He stopped. Their was an uncanny silence.

With a seven-year-old, reckless brother, the only 'quiet' he ever experienced was theoretical.

"Dante! Come on, you win! I give up!" He shouted merrily.

. . . Nothing.

"You win!" he shouted with slightly more urgency.

. . . Still nothing.

"Mom's going to be _real_ mad at us if we're late for dinner again! Come on now, it's time to go back!"

. . . Once more, nothing.

A sense of dread slowly crept upon him.

"All right, how about this!? If you come out now, I'll give you half of my personal pan pizza, okay? Enough playing." Vergil was getting angry as much as he was afraid.

A minute passed, and the panic set in.

"All right! All right Dante! Come out! _Now!_ If you don't come out, you're going to be in trouble, I'm going to tell mom!" He shouted in his serious voice.

It was just like his voice would be in the years that followed, gravelly and deep.  
Strange that a kid could reach this already, but he wasn't an ordinary person.

"Dante Anthony Sparda, you better come out this instant!" His voice changed to the voice of a man.

Vergil suddenly heard movement above him and sprinted up the stairs.

"What on earth took you so long!?" He fussed as the kid reached the ground level, "I was starting to get wor-" He froze.

He wasn't in the old house anymore.

A giant, winged statue was hovering above him. It's voice boomed.

"Useless being," The voice that always sent a shiver down his spine.

A foot ahead of him stood his twin, his back facing him.

"Dante?" Vergil whispered.

Without much thoughts he raced forward, but every-time he got close, the distance between the two widened.  
Out of nowhere he felt hands grab his shoulders and pin him in the spot.

Flames erupted all over the place and right in front of him, the fire ate his brother ever so slowly.

"THE SAVIOR!" He heard the voice of a man scream.

"No!" He screamed, but his voice was echoey, almost lost in an unknown noise.

* * *

...

His head was filled with images. He felt sharp, alive. Suddenly his eyes shot open, vermillion.

"Another one." He mumbled.

...

* * *

 **Lady's Apartment**

* * *

Lady had no Idea how long she stayed there on her concrete balcony, watching the scene unfold, down in the street. She was able to sleep for, like, an hour and a half.  
Enough to make her feel better after such battle.

However her body still hurts in places.

There wasn't a mistake of what she heard. 'You took a great trouncing Vergil.' Why would Arkham say that while facing Dante?

Unless . . .

Is it possible . . . ?

'No that's crazy? Vergil is dead. He's long gone with the tower.' Lady reaffirmed for herself in her head.

She knew this for sure, the way Dante was grieving in his own way and his happiness felt empty in his eyes.

* * *

 **. . . 3 years ago . . .**

Lady laid down on the couch, sensing the cold chill in her spine. It was great weather, honestly. Dante was setting in his arm chair, legs up the desk.

He looked quiet, never cracking a joke for awhile now.

"I wonder, what kind of relationship the two of you had?" She said and immediately regretted it, "I'm sorry."

Dante sighed.

"If I had a quarter every time someone's asked, I'd be rich." He said with a grin

Lady made a face, both annoyed and happy.

"Yeah sure, whatever you say." She said.

Dante left the chair and paced slowly to the window, listening to the wind rustle by. The moon on the horizon looked cold to his eyes.

"It was for the best, I had to do it." He whispered." What choice did I have?" His voice got quiet.

He made a motion forward with his whole torso, seemingly in pain.

Lady took notice, coming to his side. She placed her hand on his shoulder, "Are you okay?"

He suddenly came back to normalcy, suppressing the pain.

"Heh, yeah, of course. It's just a side effect; price to play for the party, mind you."

 **. . .**

* * *

It took her a while to catch on, though she knew the nature of his pain. She could relate very much, having lost her own family the same day.

Lady heaved a long breath. She had to relax and forget it, or else madness would surely consume her.

The huntress made up her mind to take a walk; just her, alone without weapons, and be normal for a short time.

Walking back in, she headed straight to the bedroom. Her room was a bit small and comfy, with a dark, grey-blue color to the barren walls.

A twin size bed, covered with maroon covers and dark pillows.

Lady stopped in front of the mirror of her dresser. Her reflection . . .

"Maybe I should change my look."

The expression changed into sadness. And through a blur, a crack in the middle appeared. It spider-webbed out and distorted her reflection, making it ugly and tattered.

Her face came to look as though years of sin had etched themselves into her flesh.  
Behind her, a dark shadow appeared, like that of an encroaching hand.

Lady closed her eyes tightly and grasped her arms.

'It's not real.'

Once she opened her eyes, nothing was there.  
The mirror was normal.

In a hurry she took out her black, hooded-poncho and went out for the front door.

Chatters can be heard nearby. A number of cars passing.

Lady knew the story of the witch in the stars by heart. In fact, every time she saw the cluster, she could hear the sound of her mother's voice telling her the tale when she was a kid.  
Perhaps that was why she enjoyed spending so much time outside at night. It helped her relax so much.

And she needed peace now more than ever before, now that her past came back to bite her once again.

Just the mere thought that she had to do it all over shocked her to the core.  
Only this time, she didn't know if she could rely on Dante.

* * *

"The raven haired priestess will always protect you - you are descendant from her bloodline!"

* * *

Her mother used to tell that to her quite often when they ran away from her father; not like she actually believed it, but still it comforted her after all this time.

Her mother looked like a bird with no wings.

* * *

"I'm sorry Mary, please forgive me. I didn't know . . . I never imagined he'd ever do such a thing."

* * *

But walking here under the stars, with nothing but her thoughts and the sky staring back at her, made her feel as though everything's going to be okay.

"I hope you forgave me mother. For not being able to protect you like I should've." She choked on air.

It didn't help that whenever she began to shed a tear, a slight breeze would rise from the stillness and ruffle through her hair. It felt much like her mother's hand did when comforting her.  
Yes, Lady liked to spend as much time as possible outside.  
It was the best time to listen to the crickets, hear the train passing in the distance, and it was also the best time to find the neighborhood cats roaming about the tops of the fence posts.

So much magic seemed to appear at night - it was as if the world came alive with the setting of the sun.

Her only complaint was the fact that, once her imagination began to soar, sunrise came far too fast.

Lady took a turn left and her eyes were confused at first. A blonde haired woman, not quite normal, drifted around her in a haze, almost like the form of a mist.

Lovely was her face as she spoke to Lady, and soon, the huntress followed her wispy form deep within the alley.

It felt alluring, yet knowingly wrong.

"Hey? Who are you!?"

She was compelled to ask.

Lucky Lady left one gun in her ankle just in case she had run into any trouble.

The woman's voice said, 'Come to me . . .'

She didn't know her words registered in her mind, not in the fabric of the air.

"Where did you go!?" She sharply demanded, "Why can't I see you anymore?"

Her face scrunched in anger.

"You're a demon . . . Aren't you?"

The alley elongated in her swirling head, while the time passed with imaginary tick-tock's. Silence; except the cartons and cans peacefully rattling along the smudgy ground.  
Although the noise was peaceful, it was constant: Not good for thinking.  
Dark. _Alone._ Even the sound of her own footsteps made her skin crawl and her body shakes. A she-devil?

Certainly. Many devils brought such a sense to her sometimes. It wasn't like she was afraid of them.

Looking around, its very difficult to see out in the inky, lonely night, but she could make out a figure. Not human, she was sure.

Swiftly, she drew her beretta from her leg and aimed directly at the front.

Might as well pack something with a punch.

"You're going to die here, bitch." She said with a smirk. And the alley was lit for a second, accompanied by loud gun shot that felt like thunder in the void.

Lady sensed wind pass by her face, blindingly fast, and a bright light engulfed the area for a moment.  
Looking at her now, the woman's hair was long and her face . . . ?

She looks like the woman in the picture . . .

Dante's picture.

No.

Could it be . . . That's ridiculous! People don't just come back from the-

Right. Arkham.

Dante's mom? How is it she was in the form of a demon? The woman in front of her clearly used lightning energy as a source of power.

Lady ducked down and dodged to the side of a dumpster avoiding her attack at the last minute. The huntress gritted her teeth. So she rose up again, ready to fire.  
But the place was empty . . . No sign of the woman anywhere.

"Where did she go?" Lady asked aloud and started jogging.

Eyes sharpened for any sudden movement. It was so quiet, the water droplets on the ground making the only noise as she scurried along.

Once she reached the end and the she saw the light of the street, she just gave up and stopped.

". . . Should I tell Dante about this?"

It started to rain, and soon, her hood was soaked. She felt more isolated than ever, the crushing feeling of the downpour steadily making her more and more lonely.  
Everywhere she looked was a grey-black, often with dark blue hues and highlights.

The only other color came from traffic lights, but they weren't any help when all she saw was darkness.

All the things her mother said just weighed on her brain.

She told her once, "You think things can't get worse now, but just wait. It'll get better, it _always_ gets better. A better day will come."

She just kept waiting. And waiting. She waited for the one; that day that never comes.  
She prayed and prayed, but the 'better day' never arrived.

That is, until she met Dante.

After the tower, she actually felt on solid ground for a while. She knew things were concrete, or so it seemed at the time.

Now it all reversed on her, leaving her cold and numb, and she hoped someone knew.

There had to be at least _someone_ who knew deep down what she hid. Someone had to know and share a kind of understanding.  
For now, that person didn't exist to her, not anymore.

* * *

 **Back To The Apartment**

* * *

She rushed back in, and began to strip down. The rain left her drenched, and so she took a hot shower.

The warmth rid her of any chill, but she still felt alone.

Walking out, rubbing herself dry with a large, white towel, she walked to the wall and turned up the heat.

She went back to the bathroom and sat down on a little, comfy stool that had a flat cushion sewn in.  
It was dark blue, with depictions of grey clouds.

She sat and let the towel fall to her waist.

The scars on her body had lessened, certainly, but there were a few new scrapes and bruises along her ribs and her forehead.

At least these were covered by clothes and hair, but she took the opportunity to treat them again.

She removed the wet gauze and replaced it with dry bandages and medical tape from the first aid kit. She thought she might have fractured a rib.

Her figure had taken a bit of a trouncing. She knew if Dante wanted to kill her, then he would have killed her.  
She knew his love of humanity was what probably kept her alive, but he'd become so ruthless.

Beneath her fringe was a small cloth that hid an abrasion. She soothed it with a warm washcloth after removing the bandage.

In the mirror, she just looked at her reflection.

It'd been a while since she actually looked at herself.

Would anyone really appreciate this? What she looked like was a hard-drinking, scarred up warrior. There was a newfound feminine quality to her though.  
She was curvier than before, and her looks had softened considerably.  
It wasn't like she planned to adopt a different diet, then suddenly her features would shift into something more attractive.

Maybe it was just a sign of maturity. It seemed slightly juvenile to take notice of, but her bosom was much larger, by all accounts.

She used to be flat like a surfboard, now she really did have a 'pin-up' look about her.

Odd how things change so subtly over . . . Gosh, was it ten years already? It'd been a while since she scaled Temen-Ni-Gru.

Her killer legs had dried now, her job was so rigorous that she didn't really need to hit the gym anymore. She slipped into a green sweater and black leggings as she waited for her normal wear to finish.  
When the dryer finished, she removed the warm clothes and folded them back into a drawer.

She surmised she was done for the night, and opened a book she'd been reading. It was _Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus_. She'd gotten roughly more than halfway, but didn't recognize it at all.

You'd think a famous film would be completely faithful to the masterpiece-original.

Nope. The book wasn't anything like that old film.  
It didn't even feel like the same story.

Nevertheless, that experience earlier, that surreal interaction with a photograph left her completely confused.

Maybe it was worth giving Dante a call, just to let him know . . .

She got up from the old leather couch and grabbed the landline. She dialed the shop's number, knowing he'd probably be there and still awake. She eventually heard the tone, and he answered.

"Hello . . ." It trailed off.

"Oh good, I caught you. Listen, I bumped into something I think you ought to-" Then his voice interrupted.

"I'm unfortunately unavailable to take your call . . . That is all. Don't keep calling back . . . _*muttered* How do I shut this thing off-"_ Aaaand click.

At first, she thought it was him just joking.

Then the dial tone kicked in.

"-At the tone, please record your message." It said to her.

"Are you fisting me?" She said aloud, then covered her mouth.

The tone went off a second later. Oh thank god.

"Uhm, hey, I-uh . . . I bumped into something on the street . . . You know what, I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Meet me at the cafe on 3rd." She said, deciding not to bother.

She hung up and dialed Morrison.

No answer there either. Damn.

Her face cracked once again to sadness. Lady heaved a sigh and went over to make the bed.

* * *

 **Devil May Cry HQ**

* * *

Vergil twiddled his thumbs at the desk.

Sleeping sucked now.

The night was getting depressing, slowly sucking the emotion out of him. Patty felt like a distant memory to him, and the productive day was gone.

There weren't any messages from anyone important, least of all Morrison, and so he was, for the first time in years, stuck with completely free time.  
He looked around for things to do, and nothing popped up. Nothing at all even stood out to him.

The furniture came and he'd set it all up the way he wanted, the nightmares had gone as well, and now he was just sitting alone at his shop.

Dante's shop.

No matter how many times he tried to escape the feeling, it really seemed like he was still an alien, an outsider in a world he wanted to know.

But it all looked foreign to him.

Sure, he understood basic human culture, but beyond the simplicities, a few years under demonic servitude made him a little weird.

For the night, it felt like he was trapped in this prison; a little introvert looking for a purpose in a harsh world he was all too well equipped to handle.

He looked for anything, anything at all.

Then he remembered it.

Her number. Jennifer.

He scrounged about and looked for the paper, ultimately finding it in the trash. It was crumpled with some food stains. How careless of himself.

Staring at it, he saw the correct name, Jessica.

'What is wrong with my head? I didn't use to be this bad with names.' He said to himself, almost punching his own face out of frustration.

He was desperate for contact now, mostly out of being tired of the concept of loneliness itself.

How many nights could he go without some form of affection? Be it of a friendly nature or something more carnal.

He didn't care really.

Wow, imagine that; he actually shared a personality trait with Dante. Funny how that didn't bother him anywhere near as much as it would've a few years ago.

He looked inside himself, wondering if he really wanted to see this person again.

Well, as long as she didn't bring the child, he'd be fine.

So he gave her a ring.

As it dialed, he realized he hadn't thought of anything to say. Too late now.

"Hello?" She answered.

" . . ." He was afraid to say anything.

"Hello?" She was more insistent, on the verge of hanging up.

Come on, say something for once.

"D-Uh, Uhm, H-Hi. Hi Jessica." He said, as uncomfortable as he felt inside.

"Who is this?" She questioned lightly.

"Uhm, I'm-Uh, It's . . . Dante." He stumbled out.

She giggled a bit.

"Ahehehe, I thought I recognized the stammering! How are ya big guy? What's up?" She said, taking charge since she knew he was shy.

There was something so magnetic to her about him. Anyone else of course wouldn't get this far, Vergil had a unique draw to him.

"I-Uh, I was wondering if you . . . If you maybe wanted to grab something to drink, or whatever tonight." He replied, gaining a small bit of steam.

Cellphones weren't exactly his forte, and he felt so unskilled using them, especially the social aspect of it.

"What, like, right now?" She asked, a bit surprised.

"Oh, if you don't . . . You know, if you don't want to-" She cut him off.

"No! No, I think I can make that work. One of my girlfriends from Texas is visiting, I think she'd be down to watch Ryan while I'm gone." She said.

There was a quick scramble on the other end as Vergil tried not to encourage her.

"You should spend time with your friend if she's got a limited stay here." He said, all regal and controlled, yet awkward and stilted.

"Oh she's in town for a week, she just got in two days ago." The woman shot his rebuttal down.

Just perfect.

"Alright, she said yes, why don't you give me your address and i'll ride over in an hour? I'll pick you up!" She was so enthusiastic.

Immediately, he felt a wrench in his gut.

Maybe this was a mistake? He hadn't realized the implications of calling her over.

This place was decrepit and ghoulish, possessing the macabre skulls and trophies of Dante from his career.  
Despite Vergil's attempts to make it inviting, it still had this real spooky, gothic vibe at times.

He knew an ordinary woman probably wouldn't cope well in an environment like this.

And yet, his lips muttered the information she wanted.

She had a bit of an effect on him too, reciprocating a kind of magnetic reluctance.

So, the woman hung up and began riding over.

Stress shot into his spine, the nervousness of having to be around this woman again returning to his gut.

What did he just get himself into?

So . . . sixty-five horrid, painful minutes went by as he waited in silence. The vehicle eventually pulled up to his driveway, but he didn't go to the door.

He stayed frozen right in that chair.

So she got out of the truck and walked to the door. She began to knock, and rung the buzzer.

Still, he did not come to the door.

So she tried the sensible thing and just twisted the handle.

It came right open.

Damn, of all the times to forget that!

"Hi." He replied, cold and emotionless.

"Oh, was this a bad time?" She said as she walked in, modestly dressed similar to how he saw earlier.

He grumbled back at her.

"No, no."

She chuckled a bit and decided to ask him.

"Hmhm, then to what do I owe the pleasure sir?" She gave him a very, VERY familiar sarcastic grin.

If it's not his brother, then it's some tramp on the street.

"I, uh- I'm . . ." He couldn't put what he wanted into words.

So she just walked toward him and took control.

"Okay, let's try this? How about 'I was lonely here, do you want to spend some time together?'" She said, then finally noticed the grim figures on the walls.

She let out a little gasp.

"Wha-whoa! Those are some dark lookin' mementoes!" She exclaimed, trying to retain her cool as best she could.

"Oh, uh- Well, those are my brother's." It had become a really stupidly simple excuse to fall back on.

Always blame his brother.

"Oh. Is he here or-?" She left off there to let him finish.

He squirmed a bit.

"He-uhm. He died." He replied. It left her a bit deflated.

"Oh! Oh my gosh! I'm _so_ sorry, I didn't know."

He looked at the ground. He couldn't deny it.

. . . It still hurts like hell every time he remembers

"Yeah, uh, It was- It was kind of recent; very much unexpected. I'm here tending to his affairs." It was technically true.

She understood his reserved nature much more now.

So she placed her hands on his shoulders to try to sooth him.

"Hey, do you wanna go out? Like- lets get out of here and get some fresh air." She suggested the idea so innocently.

He stood confused and torn. In this state, he was more open to suggestion than usual.

"No . . . we-. . . lets just sit here for awhile." He disagreed pessimistically.

"Okay. Alright, we can do that too."

She tried to beam a look of positivitey out at him, and he guessed he'd put on a fake face of relief.

"So, Jane."

"Jessica." She said with a laugh.

Where was his head at anyway? He kept forgetting these names more and more. These commonplace things should have been so easy.

So beneath him.

And yet, they were throwing him for a loop. He let it go for now, but maybe it was just the result of being so isolated and corrupted under Mundus.

He hated to remember anyways.

Vergil left the desk and paced to the window with her, for a better sitting place.

He looked out the window, so distant and emotionless. She looked at him and understood, so she didn't push him very far.

"You got any drinks here?" She inquired.

He nodded, pointing to a dark wood cabinet next to the bookshelf.

She grabbed them some whiskey.  
This one was fun to drink in silence, at least.

Every once in a while, she felt the urge to talk, so she tried to get him to speak up.

They'd exchange some pleasantries for a while, then the quiet would set back in.

Eventually, she just outright asked him.

"So, do you like me?" The phrase had cynicism behind it.

He looked at her for the first time.

It caught him so off guard.

" . . ." He seemed silent, and it made her feel stupid, so she just looked down at her glass, visibly disappointed.

"Yes." He finally replied.

She looked back at him surprised, a slight smile leaking out.

"Don't sound so excited," She joked, "So, what if instead of going for drinks . . . we just get closer?"

He groaned inside, because he knew just what she meant by that.

But he looked at her, and he saw something he didn't mind.

"I'm open to it." He said lowly. She smiled to herself.

His dark charisma was something he actually wished he could turn off sometimes.

Of course, Dante seemed to be able to flip it off like a switch. He didn't know why, he always felt that kind of power should be open and expressed completely.

So Vergil tended to embrace the more paranormal aspects of his soul.

"So?" She asked him for confirmation.

He looked at her, and saw a kind of legitimate mutual attraction.

Maybe it wouldn't be bad if they just got intimate.

The more he thought about it, the more he actually considered it a little bit. Really? Would he really just sleep with this person he had only just met?

He did this once before with that brief companion, when he was young.  
That didn't turn out well, as he'd already reminded himself.

But she had an allure . . .

That was it, the words that would turn off any possible desire he could have. Not to mention, it's just not like him to have one-night stands. At least for now.

"Aren't you married?"

"Single mother, babe. Remember?" She gave him a face that said ' _hello!?_ '

"Well, no. I don't feel dressed right for it." He responded with that dry wit, and it was well received.

She laughed aloud.

"Oh please, if it's just too much torture for you!" She joked back and giggled.

He felt a warm sensation in his chest. What was that?

It was like when Patty had done something he admired or something he reluctantly admitted was cute, only more intense.  
Her laugh was cute, and he couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction.

"Oh! Oh! Back off, people! I got him to smile!" She said, and continued that subdued, warm laugh. "Relax, I was just playing with you."

She kept chuckling.

After a while, it felt like 'listening' to honey.

His smirk grew into a bit of a smile, and she enjoyed the moment even more.

.

.

.

A voluptuous blonde strolled up in, looking for the man she'd been hoping to see. Who was that witchy woman who'd harassed her before?

Well, either way, she was looking for Dante.

The place was far different than she remembered, largely on account of the new, much nicer furniture and cleaner feeling.

Some of Dante's collection still remained on the wall. Some of it had burned up during their initial meeting.

She regretted destroying some of his personal history, now that she was free of Mundus's influence.

But it was still definably different than before. Something was missing, she could almost put her finger on it . . .

'The posters!' She realized.

She knew that the man's preference for women was rather overt earlier on, and she didn't recall him removing them before they left.

Sure, they'd put out the fire after convincing him she wasn't his enemy, but he showed no signs of dropping that part.

The walls were completely devoid of the same contraband Dante had openly displayed with pride.

. . . Unusual.

There was also this odd sense. It felt like Dante, but-. . . No. No, she knew whose this was.

Similar to Dante, but very different as well . . . She could tell just by the smells and the type of air. The dust was different . . . The decor . . .

Vergil . . .

Yes, that was who she sensed lived here now. He'd-. . . He'd survived . . . ?

Trish didn't know what happened, but she knew she had to find out. Where was the slayer _she_ knew?

The new resident just left.

The blonde woman saw the back door open and another female walk out of it.

"Oh hello? Are you a client or something?"

Trish raised an eyebrow, surprised a bit.

"Where is he?"

"Dante? Talking on the phone, he'll be here after a minute." Jessica said and turned away from Trish.

Within seconds a voice broke the silence.

"What are _you_ doing here?" That galvanizing, unmistakable voice.

Vergil came in and threw the phone upon the desk.

"What have you done?" Trish confronted him.

Vergil clenched his right fist.

He glanced at Jessica.

"Leave. Now."

"What?" She placed her hands on her hips and wanted to argue. "But what abou-?"

" _Now._ " He repeated.

His eyes? they were too cold. That's when she made up her mind to walk away. Was it really her business to know what's going on here?  
She still liked him, maybe she'd give him a call after. Either way, she respected the tension.

Once the door closed, the two were left alone.

"I thought I would never have to see a tramp like you ever again." His eyes turned bright crimson. "How dare you come to this place."

His voice deepened, turning into the unmitigated growl of a demon.

"I've dreamed about what our _'special' reunion_ was going to be like. Lo and behold, _you come to me!_ " He gave a psychotic glare, rage billowing from his maw.

But Trish wasn't worrying, in fact, her face had the look as if she was still in control. The situation wasn't looking that good for either party.  
She knew of Vergil's ruthlessness, but she didn't care. She wanted to know what happened.

"Where is he!? What did you do to him?" She demanded, not scared of him.

His face looked horribly pained suddenly.

"I found him, cold and alone. I didn't even get the chance to try and save him. He died _right there_ in my hands." The strange, sad fury that coursed through every syllable put things on edge.

She stopped in her thoughts.

"Where _were you_ , huh? Where were you when he was fighting that battle? You coward. You thief of life!" He angrily hissed.

Her face became saddened. Dante was . . . Dead?

"He . . . ? He died?" Her voice wavered.

He nodded.

She fell to her leather-bound knees, "No!"

Tears fell to the ground. She sat there in her misery, her brown jacket masking her light corset.

Minutes went by as he stood there watching her pain roll out.

Eventually, she calmed somewhat, sniffling and red-faced.

"Get up." He muttered.

"What?"

"I said: 'Get. Up.'" He was furious.

How dare she shed tears for a family that was not hers. She had no right to wear that face. He would take it back from her.

"But . . . Why? . . . Why do you hate me so much?"

"Because you're a **fake!** " He bellowed in her face, wind rippling through her hair, " _ **You're just a corrupted**_ _**shell!**_ _ **I buried his body and you hid away!**_ "

She was taken aback by his unbound mental state.

"I am no shell!" She yelled through tears, standing back up, albeit shaky, "I have more compassion for that man in my pinky finger than you have in any-"

Her words were cut off with a rough punch to the stomach that sent her flying out the entrance.

He stepped forward and slammed the door shut behind him.

"You. Me. Right now; the old church across town." He spat.

She staggered to her feet and glared at him.

"Why there?" She asked.

"Because I'm going to wipe you from existence in the house of god." His eyes were brutal, his teeth gritted.

A pure black aura surged from his form.

And so they went.

* * *

 **The Cathedral of Saint Aamoth, the Loved**

* * *

The streets were littered with trash. Plastic bags floated by on a whim, and nearby, prostitutes sold themselves out for a new shade of cheap lipstick and some cab fair.

Some other crimes, like robberies and sexual assault were going in small banks, back-alleys, and red-light apartments.

All that bled away in Vergil's head, the focus of his anger becoming purely directed towards this new individual.

She raced along the rooftops to the big, boarded off doors.

Vergil calmly arrived in tow.

They stared at one another, linked by hate and paranoia.

"So, here we are . . ." Trish spoke sarcastically, "A bit grim of you, don't you think?"

Working under Mundus together made her wise to his tactics.

Vergil didn't speak, instead turning his head to the door.

A gust of wind picked up, and the doors blew open. The wooden planks and various guards on the barrier disintegrated.

And so the doors opened to an empty, dusty church.

Trish walked in first, blue electricity running along her black wrist accessories.  
He followed into the darkened place, the vaulted ceilings high above looming over their heads like guillotine blades.

He snapped his fingers, and a number of old candles flickered back to light.

Courtesy of Ifrit.

She generated an electric arc between her hands, holding it stable as she walked off to the right.

Vergil walked to the left, past the pews to the open space opposite Trish.

He summoned Yamato and held it up with his right hand, outstretched horizontal, the point towards her throat.  
She clenched her fists closed, dispelling the fritz. Holding her fists up, she readied her blue bolts.

"Your power is different." Vergil commented, "What's holding you together now that the lord is gone?"

She smirked at him.

"Just a little something Dante gave me as a keepsake, to keep me safe before he went off to-. . ." She trailed off at remembering.

The slayer had kept Sparda in his possession, instead offering her the Alastor as way of giving her a familiar element.  
With it, her powers were far greater, even after the master's attachment had faded away.

"Hmph, you think you actually know what strength is?" His face turned dark, "I'll let you know exactly how he felt before he died, from firsthand experience."

She threw the first attack, launching a bolt from her still position.

It hit him, but he resisted the attack, grunting as he staggered back.  
He pushed beyond the pain, stepping back forward as she flashed forward with her boot.

Her right knee crashed into his head, knocking him off-kilter as she spun into a roundhouse midair.

His head flicked to the right, then rocked back to the left as her heel came around into his cheekbone. He fell forward on one knee.

By the time she'd landed, he'd twisted around lunged for stab.

She shifted back in quick thinking, propelling herself with static electricity. He continued forward, roaring at her as he wielded Yamato like a cutlass, fencing her back in a red blur.

Trish, on the defensive, manifested electric blades that she guarded each strike with, with one for each hands.  
The darkened devil drew out more speed, attacking at an ever-increasing rate.

Finally, he cut through her defense, and began to nick at her skin.

First, he cut her cheeks, twice on both sides, then he slashed her arms and her stomach. They were tiny little gashes, but they stung nonetheless.  
Twisting the handle in his hand backwards, he issued a sonic strike to her palms in a clash. The guards protected her hands and resisted the blade's steel.

Sparks flew out on both of them, neither really caring of the pain.

She released a pulse, a shockwave pressing him backwards, then released a punch coated in current.

His body stammered as it hit his ribs, and flew back into the benches.  
She flew after him, attempting to land a followup, but he countered with a kick.

He released the hit into her diaphragm.

It was like a steel rod being thrust through her, as she coughed up blood and flew back above the empty prayers and landed on a dock above the roman organ.

On one knee, she grabbed her chest as she dodged a fireball, electrically shifting from ledge to ledge to ledge searching for solace higher up.  
Vergil released his blast and began to yell with each blast, becoming and more intense until he finally screamed.

" _Aaah!_ " He howled, and launched a burst of energy where she was going.

The inferno powered into her side, pancaking her against a wall.

"Ah!" She cried as her head smashed into the partition and she began plummeting to the ground.

He charged forward, intent on slamming her with his gauntlet covered fist. Closer and closer, they were almost together, and . . .

Vergil's weapon hit the wall. Sitting atop his concrete arm was the elusive minx, legs crossed and smugly smirking for a brief moment, before forcing both her heels into his face.

The man stumbled back as she landed down and delivered a vicious right hook.

His jaw dislocated, and he stepped back further.

Molding the electricity into a living scythe, she spun it around and sliced down. He guarded with both forearms, holding back the crackling weapon.  
A new flame flickered, and he released his arms out and away into an explosion.

The burst burned her shoulders, and she was hurled into the wall.

He stared at her, deathly serious.

"Parlor tricks. In the end, you're just as weak as that insufferable oaf of a brother. To befriend you . . . What a pathetic joke." His voice smoldered in her head, engraving their mutual dislike.

She stared back at him with a matched rage.

"Do you really love him? Could you really love someone, only to insult them in death? How could you delude yourself?" Her words cut through his chest.

He stopped in his tracks.

The comment made him appear to lose some his self-control.

"I-Ergh! You-. . . What would you know about him? You're dirt make to look like my mother! You couldn't love something because you came from _him!_ " He screamed.

She chuckled in his face.

"I may be a creation, but I didn't choose my face. I didn't choose to manipulate Dante either." She forced herself to stand, using the wall as support.

Blood dripped from her pretty teeth.

"Ungh!" She grunted as she grabbed her stomach, "Do you even think before you act, you childish _prick_?"

Her tone was nowhere near his mother's.

"You've no idea the emotional turmoil I put myself through to try and atone for my betrayal! I came to your brother's shop to seek forgiveness, not revenge!" She yelled at him.

He took one look in her eyes and just told her the truth.

"I don't care."

His response shocked her.

"You killed my brother. I couldn't forgive that, even if I wanted to." His voice got shaky and coarse.

Her back fell against the wall, and she slid down.

" . . ." She'd given up, "I did nothing to him. I . . . Loved him." She shed another tear.

His face was cold to the fact, looking not unlike a slab of iron.

"You . . . You're sick." He sneered, "You _look like our mother._ He couldn't love you back, halfwit."

She didn't even react.

"Maybe so. But does that change what I feel?" Her questioned completed dozed through him, stifling any response.

He was silent for a long time, looking at her.

This isn't possible, she couldn't love Dante. If that was true, then his entire belief of her, his whole reasoning was completely and utterly, dead wrong.  
Could he handle that? Was he strong enough to handle that?

"You're lying." He said, frigid.

She looked back up at him.

"Aren't you empathic like your brother? Why don't you take a look?" She told him off, uninterested.

He searched and searched, perhaps hoping to reawaken this dormant aspect.  
Sure enough, he could feel it. The perverse nature of her feelings, perverse to him anyway.

"No. No . . . No, this isn't possible!" He shouted, "You can't- You're just-!"

In that moment, she grew angry at him again.  
That face she loved, twisted so far out of familiarity by a man she neither wanted to accept nor love.

So she blasted him in the face with her strongest bolt.

"Aaaaaaah!" He hollered out, clutching his pained countenance.

She stood and quickly dropped the jacket to the ground revealing her white, strapless top and a black choker.

Summoning it all up, she manifested Alastor in all it's draconic glory.  
She jammed the blade forward in a stinger, impaling his midsection and taking him off his feet for the very first time.  
His body contorted in a flurry of electric waves, and his back hit the floor.

"I have something to show you." She said, brazen.

He returned to Yamato, his most comfortable weapon.

As they clashed and struck desperate strikes against one another, a tempest of slashes and painful lacerations swirled around them, destroying the pews and cracking the colorful murals.

They brought their weapons together in grind and spoke to one another once more.

"You mock him with that getup!" She yelled.

"I . . . Will . . . _Kill you!"_ He retorted, disturbed.

They separated in a red mist, both taking damage.

She knew wasn't as strong as him, her powers were straining to keep up at this point, despite the slight physical reprieve.

Each moment when she went for a move, he'd counter with a barrage of rough attacks outpacing her by a million miles.  
She summoned the electric scythe again and moved with both, managing to hold her own even longer as their combat raged.

Still, with Yamato alone, he overwhelmed her, using judgement cuts and rising stars, summoning all sorts of attacks that lit up the cathedral's innards far brighter than any candle through the place.

He thundered and battered her around, wearing her down as a sudden burst of electricity caught her eye, and she realized it was not hers.

Vergil had triggered.

Wearing a scaled, black kimono on top of his mutated body, it was his old, untrained form; the only thing he could think of under the mental duress.

The colors were different, but it was the same.

"Cut off!" He said as he sliced through a lock of her hair, then unleashed the wrath of an old Samurai with a salvo of horizontal movements. Juggling her in the air, he prepared a final, zantetsuken.

Unexpectedly, she flew high above, out of his indigo reach.

Healing her wounds in an instant, she began to blast bolts of electricity in an instant, her own, less monstrous devil trigger a result of her false physiology.

A fierce, blue field of energy emanated from her.

He continually dodged, despite several good hits on him. Zooming through the hall, he made acrobatic artwork of her aiming.  
Bouncing around the walls, his evades became more complex and harder to follow, until, eventually, he just disappeared altogether.

She stopped for a second, then successfully guarded against an helm-breaking strike.

Grounding her, they parted in a purple tear, and prepared for another clash.

Trish, armed with Alastor and the lightning scythe: Vergil and his trusty Yamato.

"Begone." Vergil told her.

He released a charge, azure strike that came downwards and diagonal.

She slashed upwards in countermand with both weapons.

He shattered the scythe into ions, and wrenched Alastor from her hands with a single stroke.  
Trish rocketed into the mural, the glass cracking open as it stopped her momentum.

Showered in shards, she crashed into the floor, broken.

He roared like an uncaged animal, preparing to kill the remnants of his captor. This would feel soooo goood . . .

She crawled to her knees, covered in cuts and bruises, and her hair and arm almost drenched in blood.  
Her nose was bleeding profusely as well, it wasn't good.

This was it. The last thing she could do.

Looking at her right hand, time seemed to slow. All her remaining strength crackled in and out of it.

Well, here goes the last stand.

She charged forward, intent on making it count, knowing he would win. He was _always_ going to win.

The two met a final time.

Digging her fingers into the top of his head, she released it. His mind blasted off, taking him through to a different time, someplace else.

* * *

 **Mallet Island**

* * *

Dante was struggling to stand, his father's power making him strong enough to be on Mundus level, but not strong enough to take all his attacks at once. The brute . . .

He held the blade, Sparda, his father's namesake aloft and irradiated strength from millennia ago.

But it wasn't enough.

"Damn it!" He shouted in frustration, Mundus towering above him, his form half-destroyed and corrupted from it's angelic stone.

"Dante!" He heard a voice.

Twisting his head to the left, he saw her . . . The one he'd spared. Trish, come to save the day this time.

"Use my power!" She said as she channeled all her golden vitality into his body. How did she get here?

It doesn't matter, he guessed.

Imbued with her strength as well as his father's, the fight raged on. She'd aided the warrior as best he could.  
It was up to him now, she could only try to find an escape for them both, and he knew this.

"Th-thank you, find a way out . . . I might not get so lucky . . ." She heard him say.

'That was last time I saw him.'

* * *

 **Present**

* * *

His mind crashed down on itself, and his form cracked away slowly till he was all human again.

"N-. . . No . . . You fool." He croaked, beads of saltwater flowing down his molten cheeks, "H-How could you!? How could you throw yourself away like that!?"

He screamed.

"Aheh, now you see." She said, spitting up blood onto the ground, "I tried to save him . . . I guess it wasn't enough, huh?"

Yamato stuck out her backside, quivering in regret.

She fell forward, and he did his best to remove the blade painlessly. She couldn't feel anything at this point.

Vergil was overcome with a new feeling.

What was it? It felt like sadness, it also felt like he'd made a huge mistake.

. . . Remorse?

Remorse. He felt remorse.

It hit him like freight train, collapsing his shoulders.  
She began to fade, having taken on too much.

No, not like this.

He wouldn't let it end like this.

He called forth his power, the demonic energies of his corroded past.  
Come on, this isn't how it should end. Just this time, do something for someone else . . .

His fist tightened and from the edges of his glove came a blue energy. It pained him so much to bring it forth, a sliver of his own life; almost like he'd been shot in the throat again.

Incantations such as that of Lady's salvation wouldn't work on purely demonic creatures.

Without hesitation, he plunged the summoned orb into her stomach wound, and the light enveloped them both.  
It shined like a beacon, guiding boats through the northern seas.

Her heartbeat remained slow, and worry gripped his chest. Come on, come on!

And then, it began to speed back up.

Soon, her skin returned to being smooth, and his hopes rose again. The pain on her face disappeared, and she awoke just as the light disappeared.

In that moment, he couldn't think of anything else to do. He was so overcome with emotions he hadn't experienced before, if ever . . .

He was happy, regretful and even angry still.

He didn't know if it was through impulse or repression, but suddenly, without any rhyme or reason, they became interlocked in a kiss.  
It was surprisingly passionate . . . fun even. And for a moment, he seemed to forget who she was.

Then, he remembered.

They stopped.

He stood away from her, horrified.

"What . . . What have I done?" He said to himself, feeling disgusted.

She didn't know what to do or to say.

"I-I . . ." She stuttered, trying to find the words that would calm him.

"Quiet!" He boomed.

She acquiesced.

His mind felt broken. What was wrong with him!? How could he be so perverse? He wasn't Dante, he wasn't driven by lust, but by honor and respect!

Vergil couldn't register the brevity of mental states he had gone through in the span of only a few minutes.

He clutched his skull, and crouched to the floor.  
Mangled and stilted groans escaped him, anguished by the darkness in his heart.

Then, he grew silent.

"Vergil?" She said.

"Get out."

"Wh-?" She couldn't even finish.

He turned to her and she saw the most frightening look she'd ever experience. Her spine froze in place as she stared upon his twisted wrath.

" _ **GET OUT!**_ " He shrieked.

Raving like a lunatic, he went mad from the revelation, screaming at the top of his lungs.

She ran from his sight, escaping the building as quikcly as she could.

She heard him rage inside, very structure itself shaking like an earthquake had struck the city.

" _Rrrrrraaaaaaaaaaahhhh ergh agh!_ " There was no place to hide, there was no place to run.

Nowhere to go that he couldn't find inside that place.

It was like his mother died all over again.

" _Leave! NEVER come back!_ " It wasn't even human anymore, whatever was talking.

She accepted his demands, fleeing the area, in fact, making very quick plans to just _leave town_. Nothing could bring him back down now, he just needed to release until he had nothing left.  
His form distorted out of control, returning to his most powerful one, the four-winged destroyer . . . The Majin.

Vergil unleashed all his aggression at once, and in a single surge, leveled this old hallowed place.

* * *

 **Much Later On . . .**

* * *

From the ashes arose an old man, one who felt brazen and ragged. One who had maxed out a lifetime's worth of pain.  
The imbalance was temporary, and he felt returned to a sense of some kind of normal.

Now it was time to return.

He left this place, calmly searching for his brother's abode.

His abode.

Vergil found the office at last, still sensing the power pulse within him like fire. He needed to lie down; he needed to just sleep for a few centuries.

His felt weighed like a cinderblock, and his skeleton seemed bendy.  
The muscles and tendons were all sore.

And he felt that pain in his chest again. Trish had taken Alastor as she'd left, and he hoped he wouldn't ever see her again.

On his desk was something new. It hadn't been there before.

A white envelope.

Inside it was a coin and a letter.

It was a note from Trish.

'I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve that, Vergil. I wanted to make things right, but I just hurt you more.  
I came by to give this to Dante, but . . . I want you to have it. He would too. It's an old coin he used to carry around.  
He said he'd lost it on the island, so I found it for him. Now it goes to you. I hope it helps you grieve as much it did for me.'

Vergil didn't even have the strength to look at the coin. He slipped it in a pocket and collapsed over on the floor, slamming face first.

* * *

 **Two days went by, and Vergil didn't move.**

* * *

However, the very moment he awoke, something was wrong.

There were two, plainly obvious sets of sandy footprints right in front of him.

"What is this?" He grumbled. slowly placing his hands in front of him. Lifting up, he felt rejuvenated, but tired still.

He staggered about, trying to find his way. The surroundings were still the same . . . The letter was still on the desk, and all his possessions and furniture still remained.

Following the footprints, the Cambion trekked all the way to the backyard door.

He saw where they led, and his eyes widened.

"No!?" He whispered and opened the door, the cold wind welcomed him, like an omen.

He rounded out and he couldn't help but to gasp.

Dante's grave was open.

Rebellion is gone.

His breath hitched in his throat as he knelt down to check the grave.

Nothing but dirt welcomed his vision.

"No . . . No!" He repeated again. After coming through so much, after all that he just went through.

And now? This was happening.

* * *

 **To be continued. . .**

 **Thank you for reading, I hope you loved this long chapter :)**

 **Special thanks to my beta reader Angel wolf for his help.**

* * *

 **Beta Reader Note:**

 **Hey guys, just a little update from me on the song influence, this chapter came from a lot of different places regarding music.  
Most of the influence from the Trish and Vergil fight comes largely as a result of Metallica's Welcome Home (Sanitarium).  
Lady's portions as well as the actual title of the chapter comes from an old, real somber acoustic folk song of the same name, actually, by Crosby, Stills, & Nash.  
**

 **It's a really moving, underrated song from the early 80's and captured the right kind of vibe I wanted to use.  
So, i tried to inject some of that stuff in, with the Metallica song also fitting in very thematically for this one as well.**

 **That's all from me, hope you guys get some influence from that too!**

* * *

 **My thoughts and responses:**

 **Turbo Sexaphonic: I did not thank you for your last review. Like a film adaptation or a literal game!  
Oh my heart. Working on that Part with Angel wolf was so much fun, I'm proud of it too :D**

 **Thank you Guest :)**

 **Thank you passing by guest for sharing your thoughts here, and I agree with you.**

 **Dante's timeline guest: It was nothing, just a bit of misunderstanding and it's over immediately. Welcome :)**

 **Metallica Guy: To be honest I was not very sure with the Idea before, but it fits perfectly and I love it now. :D Go ahead and ask,** **i'll be sure to answer soon.  
** **In case you did not see before, I didn't mean to offend you, or anyone. My apologies.**

 **Wow thank you so much StableGenius TR that was such an in depth review it made me happy so much.** **Yes I wanted to show Vergil in a new light.  
** **He could like a woman it's just not the flirty type like Dante, not to mention he is a bit of loner.** **He handles it in a strange way.**

 **I'm so glad the issues with Lady is working fine this far. I was afraid I will fall into the same mistakes, the other authors fall in, and just come off wrong.  
** **But this far it's handled with respect and developed Lady perfectly.** **I hope I gave Vergil more** **development** **here in this chapter as well.**

 **Your thoughts about Lord of the rings is correct :) I was influenced by that. Nice to meet another fellow fan. I just thought it could be perfect for this. And it is :D**


	12. Chapter 12 Harvester Of Sorrow

**Chapter 12 ~ Harvester Of Sorrow**

* * *

Vergil returned to his office.

The wheels of his mind spun several logical questions, seeking to eliminate scenarios. Who could have come in while he was sleeping?  
If they were typical robbers, why was nothing else taken? Where is Dante's body? Is he. . . ?

No. Not that.

He froze, listening into every sound and echo, expecting to catch an unfamiliar noise.  
But, he heard absolutely nothing. After four minutes of disappointment, he gave up hope. How much time had passed?

Shuffling around, he found the phone, and on the crawl read the date.

Two days. . .

Three messages from Lady. . .

Well, no time for that right now.

His fingers twitched, legs barely keeping him balanced. Taking a breath, Vergil sought the bathroom.  
A poor attempt for relaxation, but it'll still help at least a small bit. He turned the faucet and washed his face.

"Who dares? Who _would_ dare. . . ?" He repeated to himself.

Once his eyes gazed up, he could not help but to widen them, startled.

It's said the mirror reflects what you really are, an unflinching look at all your flaws. Perhaps theres some truth to that, considering what he saw.  
It was like a glimpse into a far darker universe, one where the inner thoughts are worn like flesh. For a moment, just a single second of time. . .

Nelo Angelo stared back at him.

Vergil checked his hands.

Nothing; just a plain old set of fingers and palms.

"What's happening?"

The reflection in the mirror was normal again.

Calming himself, Vergil ushered himself back to the bedroom, attempting to catch some kind of clue, any little piece of information he could to figure out what happened.  
He was halfway when he heard a loud crash that came from outside, close to the front door. The man frowned and sprinted over to the entrance, moving in a blur to the normal eye.

Right outside stood a brown-haired male with well developed muscles.

He looked startled, and so tried to turn back.

Vergil grabbed him by the collar and yanked him backwards, effortlessly trouncing the spy onto his back, skidding six feet back into the building.  
Shutting the door, his eyes burned, glowing a molten red, like break lights on a car. He tightened his fists and looked down on the man, furious.

"You speckled worm, who are you? A thief?" Vergil spoke in his chilling, pragmatic voice.

The man began to tremble as he sought for some kind of escape.  
His bones hurt, so he gave himself a shakedown, rubbing the bruises away in vain.

"W-Wait man! It ain't like that, I- I was just-!" He fumbled the words, barely able to speak a coherent sentence.

Vergil rolled his eyes, grabbing him. Hoisting the man up by the shoulders, he slammed the intruder to the wall.  
The visitor coughed up saliva onto the wood flooring, and the slayer stared into his soul.  
Apish bastard, treading on his territory, stealing his brother's corpse. . . What a sad excuse for a human.

"How many of you were hanging around? Waiting for the perfect moment to enter. . ." Vergil growled, mounting rage hidden behind his throat.

Yet, the man gave him a confused, scared look.

No more mr. nice devil; playtime was over.

" _How many!?_ " Vergil bellowed abruptly.

His intruder squirmed, almost crying.

"Please man, I never got into your place! I just heard my ex likes you, I wanted to see what it was all about! Christ, _please_ let me go!" The man begged, "I won't bother you again, _I swear!_ "

Vergil stared at him for a moment, reading his body language, scrutinizing those eyes.  
He grit his teeth, and dug his fingers into the man's joints, dragging him along to the front door.

The man felt himself flying, and he landed on his chest, somersaulting forward outside in the street.

"Christ won't help you, fool. This is a place of evil; _never_ come back!" Vergil barked and closed the door.

* * *

. . .

* * *

Lady watched the scene in surprise, what was that all about?  
She strode over and knelt down slightly to the man.

"Hey, you alright?" She asked.

But the man pulled himself up and ran away, so far beyond the blacktop and these sordid buildings.

She stopped in front of the stone steps, worried.

It'd been a while now, her messages had gone unanswered. Here she was thinking he'd be the one who was fine after. . . Arkham.

Maybe she shouldn't have come here, given their recent history. Still, Dante _is_ her only friend.  
'Friend' being someone she used to treat poorly and pile more debt onto, but still, a friend nonetheless.

God she regretted being that way to him, she realized it just came across as mean-spirited sometimes, but Dante was an arrogant ass anyway.

He deserved it, at least at the time.

She needed him as much as he needed her.

It just came out wrong, that's all.

Lady tried to call him more than once, and he never answered back, despite being here at his office.  
What was going on with him? She exhaled one more time before her hand touched the handle.

"I _know_ you're there, what do you want?" She heard him say.

Lady opened the door and went inside to greet him. However she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the place.  
A dark cherry desk that seemed almost superfluous, since there was little to no paperwork to be seen. There was one picture frame and a pen.  
Behind that sat a deep burgundy leather-desk-chair that reclined to an almost obscene angle.  
There were only two small table lamps - one near the door atop a wicker table that clashed with the rest of the room's executive motif.

The absence of overhead light casted shadows within the corners, spilling beneath the desk.

Dante faced her, sitting on his desk with his arms crossed, a sight normally welcoming, but she felt betrothed to tension instantly.

His expression was so cold, looking ridiculously hostile, even for him.

"Uh, hey. I-uh, I tried calling you the past two days, but you never answered. Are you doing okay?" She spoke in a soft, gentle voice.

Vergil raised an eyebrow at her.

"You're awfully calm. Why do you care?" He replied casually.

Lady sighed and leaned over slightly, letting him see some generous cleavage.

" _Why?_ Because, you're my _friend._ "

"Friend, huh? More like assistant. You take what you want from me and then leave. Typical smug human behavior." He readjusted his arms and looked at his boots.

"Where did that come from?" She questioned.

Awkward silence dominated the two for a moment.  
He didn't feel like talking, and didn't really care if she did.

Dante's missing, and he had no idea what to do to make sense of what happened.

"Look. I came here to say this." She took in a long breath, then exhaled slowly and reached out to touch his arm.

"I'm gonna say it only once, so please listen. I'm _not_ giving up on our friendship."

His lids widened, not intensely so, but enough to look alienating. His head cocked to the side, aloof to her idea.

He looked down at her gloved hand as it touched the side of his bicep, the presence warm and strangely kind.

She spoke quietly towards him.

"I'm going to fix the cracks between us, no matter what. I-. . . I _value you_."

For a moment, Vergil's thoughts changed.  
She came all this way just to say this to him?

Wait a second. . .

She was saying this to Dante.

"Although, I found it particularly bizarre that you _yelled at Morrison,_ for no good reason. . ." Her words delivered serious confusion to him.

Morrison? He hadn't yelled at Morrison.

Lady's face drooped from a riling smile to a slightly worried disappointment.

The weird look 'Dante' was giving her was sincerely confused.

"Morrison told me he offered a job to you and you screamed at him, and I quote: 'How dare you bring such a low class job to me, you mortal trash. Know your place, lest you make me punish you.'"  
Lady humorously recounted the supposed call, but he didn't seem to acknowledge this either.

"Hmph, sounds a little too formal to be me." He replied darkly.

"But-. . . Why would you do that?" She asked.

"If you're trying to make me laugh, Lady, It's not going to work." He replied a bit agitated, "Why would I refuse a job at all, then say those kinds of erudite words?"

Vergil's smoldering gaze made her laugh inside a bit.

"You've been. . . Rather over-the-top recently." She said, explaining, "It doesn't sound very far removed from how you've been talking. Pretty arrogant, if you'll 'pardon my horrible transgression.'"

Her sarcasm fell flat to his stone face. So, she sighed to herself and struck a pensive look down.

Vergil's expression broke apart. He held his forehead tightly. This isn't who he was supposed to be. This wasn't his life.

Lady's worried about Dante, not him.

What was he doing? What the hell is she talking about? He'd been sleeping for perhaps two days.

"Are you okay? Please answer." Lady stated more urgently, her voice cracking.

Vergil took a moment to feel the back of his head.

Well, it seemed screwed on.

"I'm fine." He said through a glare.

"Dante? What day is it?" Lady asked, and straightened herself.

Vergil rubbed his temples.

"Friday."

"Slow down, cowboy. Count back from fifteen."

Too drained to argue, he relented, "Fifteen, fourteen. . . Five. . . Seven. . . Shelubist. . ." He trailed off.

"Well, now _I know_ there's something off." Lady said, now somewhat more concerned, "Can you remember anything that happened in the last two days?"

He coughed, then said, "Heh, what are you babbling about? Enough silly-talk."

"Dante, you _do_ realize that you didn't count properly right? Not to mention you don't remember your heated convo with Morrison. _What's going on?_ " Lady knelt over the side of the desk again, to his right.

Vergil wouldn't deny that she was a pretty woman any longer, he'd be a fool to lie to himself.  
Still, he didn't think she realized that she frequently showed him her. . . 'Assets,' whether intentional or not.

He spoke at last, breaking the silence.

"I've been robbed, I think. . ."

"What?" Lady replied, "When?"

"I'm not sure." He muttered.

Once more, he felt her hand touch his arm.

"Leave it to me." She said with a smirk, "Tracking down thieves is a specialty of mine."

Without waiting for an answer from him, she turned back and went for the front door.

Leaving him alone.

Again.

Vergil sighed, and he decided to move on his own.  
There's no point in sitting here, doing nothing.  
He could try to track down the strange smell that infiltrated his nostrils.

What was that disgusting stench anyway?

Whoever left it, they were going to regret having even been born.

The world was cruel.

He was crueler.

* * *

 **. . .**

* * *

Dark rivers are flowing back into the past. That's how Vergil perceived the winds that slashed and cracked down through the city streets this time of year.

The wind grew cold and bitter when the sun went down. When it came to lying low, there was an option to walk around in plain sight, disguised. It did have some kind of its own merit.  
Or. . . He had done it before so many times on a daily basis, as patience was something he was proficient at, unlike Dante. . . His nose led him to the seediest bar ever, or what his conception of one was.  
For a moment he stood there stilted, a pure kind of rage threatening to emerge. His fists crackled with fury, small ions dancing around his knuckles like plasma to a star.

The gravity of the situation crushed his shoulders, and he had enough anger to negate.

An inferno of torment rumbled through his chest just as a breeze from the AC unit wistfully blew by.

His fists tightened to the point of grinding his own flesh, unsure what was more horrid.

He: The last son of Sparda entering such a disgusting place.

Some filthy bastard, an abhorrent criminal, mired in revolting human arrogance, had the nerve to enter his office and steal his brother's corpse. . . Just like that.

The bar door felt sturdy as Vergil pulled it back, the light piercing the hazy darkness to reveal the disgusting simians inside. It all had these darkened, grey walls.  
On his immediate left, there were some framed photos on the wall. The stools were of a faded maroon, the faux leather finish having several cuts and holes in them.  
The door hinges themselves needed to be oiled, the paint was chipping off of the wood entrance itself.

His eyes scrutinized the innards until he spotted one man, seated in the far left aisle of booths that were isolated from the rest of the patrons on the right.

Vergil's face crinkled into a disturbing sneer.  
His hair mostly hid his face from view.

The twilit corridor was dirty, and he could see rats scampering about. In no way were these rodents normal. Their eyes were pure blood, and when they caught a whiff of him, they screeched and skittered.

They made desperate pleas for his flesh, scampering towards his feet as if he were fetid tissue.

Vergil rolled his eyes and stomped his foot down, crushing one instantly. The rest fell in line, as Vergil didn't even need to use a weapon.  
He glared his eyes, and they macerated into strips of rodential meat that painted the floor. He shook his head and continued his casual walk past the scum.

The slayer knew who this was.

There was another decorated door with a small set of bars to peek through.

He didn't wait.

The slayer just kicked the door down. A patron touched his shoulder. A half-second later, the man's head bounced on the floor, severed.  
That was enough to get the visitor's fleeing. So, this was where he chose to send him, a dive bar not even fit for lowly scum like Charlie Sheen.

And yet, Vergil found himself in a cylinder-shaped hallway. It was quite a bit smaller and too clean for such an ugly place.

There were a number of candles scattered around. Right in front of it stood the man he had been following for a long while, with all his despicable glory.

The man trembled slightly, and for some reason, avoided looking anywhere close to him. Did the man not see him?

The weasel's lips moved, speaking into something.

"It's done, I got my share."

The man looked down at a steel blade struck through the table in front of him.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he gazed to his right. . . Through the smoke, he appeared.  
The devil-man had veins all over his pale face, and he was grinning madly. It was that kind of glare that crushed hope.

"Ahehehe. . . _Found you._ " Vergil mocked him with a monotone delivery; a predator had found it's prey.

The man ground his teeth and took a hold of a candle.

"I-! I knew I would run into someone like you." His voice held a tremor, yet, he immediately tossed the candle toward Vergil.

Vergil stood still as his figure phased somewhat, his arm looking like a crimson blur for all three nanoseconds.

So puny and pathetic, a candle as defense. He split in half without any effort. 'Don't make me laugh,' he thought to himself.

"You just made your last mistake." He spoke in a cacophonous malice, "I'm here for the body you stole."

He then remembered an egregious err. The one thing he should have known to avoid.  
When he'd come back, he'd chosen to leave Dante's amulet with his body, out of pure respect.

That's right; Sparda was only Force Edge now, he wondered how long it would take for them to put it together, that they needed both his amulet and the fabled blade.

And then the next step, the blood of Sparda. . . Dante. . .

The meek target spun around and darted away like a rat into a sewage drain, releasing an inky smoke that Vergil banished instantly.  
When the dust settled, the man had gone into hiding behind a number of wooden boxes scattered across the room. It literally looked like a stealth game level.  
What good is pain when it's merely the vehicle for release? What good is life when it's only the transformer for stupidity?

"You're a monster! Creatures like you left a tragedy in my home. The savior is on _my_ side!" The man replied, moving between the boxes.

His attention was glued to the escape route, so he couldn't see how obvious his movements were.

Vergil's expression changed and the wide grin broke away from his face. Rapturous hatred arrived.

"Me, a monster. Hmm-ehehehehe. . . ! You honestly believe calling me what I am is going to stop me? I was bred this way, you insufferable trash-heap.  
You still don't understand. You've tainted my brother's grave, and so the earth demands penance. I'm going to salt it, one member of the order at a time. _You're going down._ " He finished in a bestial growl.

The deepness in his voice projected far, rumbling through the support beams.

With a look in his eye that was unbearable to a human's, his innocence corrodes.

The slayer appeared above the man, touching the floor one second later. He grabbed the weasel by the front of his face, and so the animal trembled and cried.

"P-Please! I have kids at home, I _need_ to be there!"

Vergil chuckled.

"Well, then they'll grow up orphans."

The man felt heat spread from the top of his head like he was combusting.  
His body started to move in reaction to the temperature.

The man scrambled, trying anything he could to get away, but Vergil's metallic fist tightened around his skull.

"No! Don't do this. . . Please!" He cried out.

Vergil lowered him down and crushed his hand closed.

A sickening fountain erupted from his exposed throat, and a gurgling sound droned on before the man went limp.

Must have been an involuntary reflex for that to happen.

The body fell back, and Vergil stared at the human mulch within his hand.  
Within an instant, a fire engulfed him, burning the remains to a crisp and cleansing the environment.

Hell, he wasn't feeling kind that day.

No one was here to keep him restrained to doing the right thing.

He took Rebellion and in a moment, he allowed the lit candles to fall to the floor.

The building began to burn, scorching into the ground as ashen pillars crumpled, crashing down in front of the door.

He'd grown tired of protecting these insufferable humans. The way he was feeling right now, they all deserved to die.  
As it came undone, the whole building was left a smoldering ruin, with red trucks pulling up just about five minutes too late.

Tormented screams had no effect on him.

The veins on his face receded as he came to his normal senses.

Did he really hate humans so much?  
Everything seemed a little hazy to him.  
Perhaps _this_ was just like the 'Morrison incident,' as he'd begun to put it.

And yet, as he looked around, Vergil felt a sudden change of air.

Like time itself stopped.

Once he gazed up, in front of him, upon the rooftop of a building directly adjacent. . .

There stood a red-haired young man; he didn't look any older than 16.  
The boy stared at him with cute puppy eyes, like irresistible sugar cubes.

Dressed in an all-black, Japanese high school boy's uniform, the teen looked as if he'd stepped straight out of a generic anime. He had fingerless black gloves and his face was fair.

" _Judas Priest_ , another old foe. What's the name you've given yourself, child? Oh right, Elias."

"You still remember me? I'm touched." The young man had a strangely enchanting voice, to the point no human could resist the allure.

This was a particularly hateful demon. A pied piper who would gain your trust, then rip it out without care.

But Vergil was no man, he wasn't sure any part of him was human anymore.

"How could I forget Ulmarag's bitch?" He spat at the boy, "I said it before, you should run the next time you see me."

Though overconfident, Elias' face fell into a scowl.

Vergil grumbled loudly, "You love courting Death, don't you?"

"I'm a demon, this is what I am. I hunt for food and for my own fun." The boy responded.

Elias then struck an overdramatic pose,  
"You belonged to my master once. You were meant to die there, and so let us all feast on you. Still, I suppose this is a better way to burn the remains of Sparda."

"Come and try." The slayer replied, drawing his katana.

"Is this anger why you wanted to kill your brother? Perhaps he hurt you too, so you wanted to kill him as revenge. He was _always_ better than you." Elias commented.  
"You remember Temen-ni-gru don't you? Why, in this world, would you want to give _us_ access, when you know we'd come after you?"

Vergil frowned.

"Mind games don't work on me." He replied.

Elias smiled and started pacing toward him, slowly. His eyes shimmered red, "Really? You were so hungry for power, you were willing to sacrifice Dante just to claim it."

Vergil felt his fingers tighten.

"That's not what happened."

"Maybe, but it _feels_ true, doesn't it?" Elias's voice started echoing.

"I wonder what your mother's going to say when she finds out about it; I wonder what would Patty think when she finds out it was _you_ who helped expose her to the existence of demons."

Vergil's vision slowly began to blur.

"Vergilius Sparda, how could you do this!?" A feminine voice on the verge of tears spoke into his ear. That's it.

Vergil rushed forward, despise full-frontal.  
In one move, he plunged Yamato forward in a violent tempest.

Elias danced around his barrage, but he still caught a few hits.

"There's no use! You're still the same murderer who brought chaos upon the lands." Elias mocked more, "What would Jessica think, hmm? Your little whore."

Quickly, before Elias could respond with a follow-up line, Vergil swiftly punched him in the abdomen, a rock-hard gauntlet liquifying his innards.  
He dove down with his blade and carved a large gash into Elias's left cheek, all down to his chest. He kicked-in the boy's knee, breaking the joint backwards.  
Vergil held up the boy by his shirt collar, that smug face delivering him an arrogant smile.

"Why are you helping them, the ones who stole my brother? Grave-robbing a dead man doesn't help you." Vergil interrogated the demon.

Fighting him was a bit annoying, since thanks to the incubus's powers, Vergil actually couldn't use his devil trigger.  
It made trying to assume the form painful, rather than enjoyable, suppressing the regenerative properties of the form in favor of activating universal phantom pains.  
The dark thrill replaced by a squelching agony; no thank you. So, he instead relied on other ways of destructive force.

In kind, Elias stomped upon the slayer's right foot, and a hidden blade ejected out of the tip of his shoes.

In a strange twist, the boy raised his legs and attacked in a flurry of kung fu kicks, his knee healed instantly.  
Vergil was forced to back off as the boy kept up his attack, intent on slitting the man's throat.  
Elias was so arrogant, it spurned the slayer forward to be as brutal as possible. The insidious boy got lucky and struck the left side of his hip.

The blood seeped as his crimson eyes began to glister back at his opponent.

The most the boy could do with his arms was block attacks, a brilliant strategy for a demon who never lost stamina.

"Relax, I don't want to kill you," Elias leaned back and kept his footwork frantic, "There's still more for you to see. _We all_ want you to suffer."

Vergil smirked and shook his head.

"Kids; they're so idiotic . . ." He said aloud.

Elias became enraged, swirling his legs around for a pouncing roundhouse that failed as Vergil's face felt like a truck tire.

The boy's ribs still felt like mush, broken apart but healing steadily. It took concentration to heal his knee up like that, it hurt like hell.  
As long as he could avoid another strike to his mid, he'd be fine. The man's statements could get under his skin though, that was a problem.

Leaping away mid-attack, Elias faked out the slayer, backflipping up onto the wall and then swinging himself up onto the roof of the next-door building.

Vergil's boots pushed back through the ash on the ground, the man jumping to the rooftop after the rotten boy's dirty trick.

Elias went for a hook kick, swiping the slayer's nose with his heel as they traded blows. It didn't even dislocate as the Vergil spun with the strike and whirled around with a fiery right cross.  
The attack rocketed into the boy's face, slamming his skull out of proportion. He flew back and hit the side of the next building, falling down into the alleyway. He heard the boy crash into the sidewalk.  
The red hunter followed closely, leaping up to throw a spiteful strike downward into the ground, but the cestus hit the pavement.

The boy barely managed to get out of the way as the impact released a blast of pyrokinetic energy.

He felt a searing flame engulf his legs, and metal fingers grasped his throat.  
The flesh of his legs came apart, falling to the ground where his feet lay detached.

Blood dripped from his mouth as his burnt tendons drooped out, exposed.

As he held the mutilated teen several feet from the ground, he began to speak to him.

"You will talk. You will beg. Then, you'll have my permission to die."

"The amulets-. . . Hold the answer for them." Elias coughed, "But, you separated them, they've no idea how to put them back together on there own. At least, they believe that."

Vergil tightened his hold on the throat and brought him close to his face.

"Explain yourself you little imbecile."

Elias's bloodied face smirked back at him.

Just like, that he vanished from his grip.

Vergil remained silent in that empty place, so many thoughts going through his mind at once.

'And the Red soul will ride out from the North.'

North.

North. . .

North!

'That's Fortuna, the _north city_ , of course! I lived there for a time; the red soul . . . Maybe!?'

It was a desperate measure for sure.

To be safe, he hightailed it back to the shop, hellbent.  
Once there, he began loading up with whatever he'd need.

* * *

 **Outside, Lady Awaits**

* * *

The woman stood, her built legs making such lengthy tasks easier in this weather.  
She waited and waited for the man to return, but he never seemed to do so. She continued to wait in vain, so it seemed.

Around the back end, a weird set of noises arose.

She knew he hadn't come back yet, she would've seen him.

Then again, he was half a demon.

So, she made her way over and grabbed the welcome mat's edge. It hadn't been toughed in some time.  
Peeling it off the ground, she grabbed the spare key and easily opened the door. Inside, she could see a variety of different aspects that all made for a familiar scene.  
Strange though, she could swear he wasn't here. Perhaps it was just a rat in the alleyway, or gravity working it's magic on a stray piece of trash on a high surface.

Two plainly obvious sets of dusty footprints led her sight all the way to the backyard door.

* * *

"Grah!" He screamed, frustrated he wasn't able to wring more out of the boy. His expression changed to that of binding rage, and within seconds, his face growled something fierce, like a caged wolf.

A sense of frigid wind chilled him, starting to spread throughout his entire circulatory system.

He took a breath as he zoomed up the wall, lunging for the way home.  
Flying above the building's, he made sure his jumps were perfectly timed.  
It didn't matter what he was doing, just where he went.  
Once his head cleared he heard the sound of a woman startled.

"Jeez, _don't do that_! Can't you just use the front door?" Lady shouted, holding her chest.

He'd just appeared before her, arriving with a thud in his small backyard.  
She could see the disturbed ground, and observed that, beside the footprints were another murky pair she'd failed to notice beforehand.

Vergil didn't say anything, and simply waited for her to go on and blurt about why she came back.  
One visit was enough, was there really something else already? So soon?

"Are you okay?" Lady asked, and crossed her arms.

However receiving no answer made her worry even more.  
Nothing seems to be right with him today.

Well, 'right' as far as the last few times he'd met with her following his return.

"Well?" She said, tilting her head to the side.

"I'm fine."

"Okay. Anyways, I was able to figure out that some members of a cult called, 'The Order of the Sword' have been spotted here in town recently." She continued.

"Order . . . of the Sword." His cold voice replied.

"Yeah, they were real shifty-looking, easy to spot for the regulars in town. Word is it's a small congregation that gathers in the old Castilian castle town of Fortuna," She scoffed slightly.

"I never imagined they'd actually leave their place, pious religions like that don't just come down off mountain high into the big city.  
I hit up my underworld contact, and _they_ said they heard the order's been seeking the perfect amulets, along with a whole host of devil arms for some reas-" Lady got cut off.

'Dante' left the room, going to his weapons cabinet.

She heard him rummage through some stuff, eventually knocking over several pieces of furniture.  
It sounded weird, and his silence made it even worse. Lady hated no communication.

"What are you doing?" She called out to him.

Something crashed, making a thunderous boom.

"Hey!" Lady ran up to see what was going on.

Vergil walked out, Force Edge in-hand, and he was wearing a tan cloak above his current outfit.  
He went by her back downstairs, and so she followed him again.

She could see the hate, the sheer hurt painted across his face.

His eyes affixed themselves to the front door.

"Where are you going, Dante?"

He touched the handle and gazed back at her.

"To Fortuna, I have unfinished business to attend to."

"Do you. . .?"

He didn't wait for her to complete her snarky statement, there wasn't any time left to waist.  
Vergil closed the door and looked up at the sky. Grim thoughts flooded his head, his hope of salvation drifting away. Now was the time for damnation, to destroy hope.  
He would bring down an ungodly destruction to Fortuna and the order, himself alone, the ultimate harvester of sorrow.

"They are going to pay for this. I'll make them suffer. Every. Last. One of them."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading. I know this isn't much, Sorry. I hope you liked it at least. I've been feeling down lately.**

 **Special thanks to my beta reader Angel wolf.**


	13. Chapter 13 Hollow

**Thank you If El Major and Guest.**

 **Chapter 13 - Hollow**

* * *

The lazy wind pushes against the unmown grass like a child sending dandelion seeds on their way: one o'clock, two o'clock, three.  
Above the white wisps trail and the late spring sun brings a welcoming warmth that coats the man as good as caramel over a harvest apple. A weather he is too familiar with, knowing that breeze too well.

His tan cloak was flowing in the wind, the silence was troubling a little bit.

His eyes drifted around, the street's mostly empty. He'd come far, Fortuna was a distant travel from his own humble abode.  
The city was populated by old Swedish architecture and French-style country houses.

It looked entirely ripped out of some medieval fantasy, with mismatched gothic churches painting the avenues every so often.  
He did not know why this city existed so, only that it served as an optimal hideaway. He came here after his time trapped in the devil realm as a youth.  
And, as all things pertaining to fate, _that_ was the time the demons chose to attack his family.

When they were at their most vulnerable, he was nowhere near, the stubborn bastard he was . . . Damn it. His fists clenched as this small reflection reminded him of his worst failure.

Right up-ahead stood Sparda's statue over the main cathedral.

"Your pathetic order . . . This city will burn, I will see to that." He whispered to himself, then noticed his father's famous visage, "People always worship you . . ."

A number of scarecrow-like entities emerged, swelling with insects as a black sickness overtook the sunshine for a moment.

Black magic: He could smell it's foul stench gathering around him.

Humanity's arrogance really knew no limit.

. . .

The closest one to him lunged. He responded with a savage front kick that burst open the diseased sack.

A wheeze came from behind.

Vergil flinched his wrist, moving beyond speed visible, and sliced the thing to oblivion. A snap of his fingers revealed the hidden atrocity, a split second of carnage unraveled the grisly toy.  
Another staggered forward and sliced down at his chest. The 3-prong blade came hurling from above, but he took a step forward then shifted his shoulder, and caught the bare assault by the thing's calf.  
Left open and pulpy, he dug his fingers in, cruelty grinding into the creature's soft tissue. A red look in his eyes, he rushed forward, effortlessly whirling it back around. It's face scraped against the asphalt.  
The entirety of it's body smacked the pavement, lifting up and around, then pulverizing downward in a continued toss at the ground.  
The air whipped, his body shoving all the momentum forth into a dark crescendo. It's 'bones' cracked sickeningly against the pavement, and the beast was done.

As a being, it broke apart into black shards of cosmic glass, soon fading away altogether.

Three rushed him, intent to overwhelm with numbers, but he anticipated their simple-minded approach.

He unleashed a force of pure fire, charring out these embers at the expense of stamina that he had to burn.  
It radiated in an uncomplicated wave, rippling it's molten energy like a bomb. It all channeled upward in a pyre, lighting the ground afire.

It acted as a beacon of hate to the denizens of this cult, hopefully they'd feel the fear he wanted them to.

He continued walking forward to the statue in the town garden, a flourishing bevy of flowers and fantastical plants adorning the grassy knoll.

A creature of lightning slashed his body, tearing the cloak away to reveal his crimson garb. The robe acted as a buffer, sparing him injury as he revealed two chained gauntlets.  
It lunged at his countenance, demanding blood in exchange for kin, but received penance as a fist in it's mid. He beat both cestus as fast as he could against it's crooked form, bashing the natural plating.  
Though silver, it's homegrown armor couldn't match his fury as he put his entire arm through it's chest. Sung was it's song, now it would remain silent as it fell to the flatland.

Grace wasn't in these monster's nature.

He kept his stroll chugging, refusing to brake for these lowly pissants. Still, at least they were demons instead of those vile primates.

A grunt came at him, dragging it's ghoulish body across the tar of the road, and tried to cease his walk with a claw.

It's slovenly teeth hung loose from it's purple-skinned mouth, a sheer sexual glee in it's eyes as it hunted for flesh to consume.

He hated Raksha's.

With one raw haymaker, the impact shattered stone.

It's head liquefied instantaneously, drawing out it's eyes from the skull in all directions, and fragmenting the cranium itself into tiny pieces.  
Sadistic was his yarn, savage was how he chose to spin it. In a sensational flurry, he ravaged all before him. None were safe.

Tiring of Ifrit, Vergil banished them in favor of his reliable katana. He spun as he drew yamato deep into side of scarecrow.  
As he turned, the blade collected another scarecrow, then another, until all four were wedged upon the blade. Time slowed, celerity a swift sense for his evolved genes.  
A moment later, the blade warped through while they still traveled together intact.

With Yamato freed, he dragged it back up against the sheath, then placed it back within it's hollow . . . The scarecrows burst to ashes.

Air slowly escaped from Vergil's lips as he straightened his back and looked to the sky, stretching.

The collisions made scars across the well-maintained street, a couple feet between him and them; the remaining opposition.

Yet he looked to his right and saw more creatures emerge from shadow, hungry.

Just an arms length away now.

One of them seemed larger, as if to command dominance among the varied lot.  
It screeched the black tongue at him, promising death and retribution against him.

"This is _really_ going to hurt you." Vergil promised with a forewarned wince, an infernal black-toothed grin beneath the stoic surface.

Vergil sprung off his feet, zooming across the thoroughfare with Force Edge elongated.

A blue blur, it pierced the lead creatures heart, and, with malice, expelled a vermillion explosion of energy that shot enemies to the stratosphere.  
In a rage, the slayer emerged from the smoke with an airborne rave of strikes, swiping Yamato left and right, diagonal and vertical, with precise abandon.  
Each stilted monstrosity exploded into bits of wire and dust as Vergil's rising form delivered a blitzkrieg of hellfire-laced slashes. The magical powers of his fury caustically de-manufactured their bodies.  
The release of smoldering hate destroyed them in an instant, a colorful display of crimson and azure.

He grabbed two remaining creatures around their twisted bodies and rotated himself, still flying.

He arched the two of them together, flinging them aloft his head and crushing them together.  
With one final barge, he thrashed them into a brick wall, bouncing their durable frames off the barrier. Easily, this re-angled them to meet Yamato.

On his descent, he slashed open each of them, playing ping pong with their mutilated cadavers and the partition's surface.

Black blood spattered the pavement and the wall itself, covering every conceivable object while he toyed with them.

In the end, they ended their existence as empty vessels, departing in a haze of dirt. His blue crush did the job, the poles of transcendent light blinking in and out of existence.  
He landed, satisfied from this bout, if he could call it that. His humanity drifted farther away from him, but a sudden flush of images brought it back.  
A single female voice dominated his mind, telling him to focus. His task was one of revenge, and it was best accomplished when one was hunting for blood.

* * *

His thoughts recollected, he began to ponder this development further.

Why? Why would Elias give some random member of this place his birthright? Was he even being honest to begin with?  
For what reason could they really need the amulets? They were created to unleash hell, not better mankind.  
Perhaps they too were trying to attain Sparda's power. Foolish men, the power of his father could not be held by _their_ wretched hands.

An ominous boom shook the place to it's core.

His breath quickened, lacking control unnerved him . . . "What was that?"

An ear-piercing howl erupted from the alley behind the statue. Agonizing screams of humankind populated the airwaves as the sounds of footsteps scurrying came his way.

Tears rained down on him like the breath of Zephyrus, a shrieking monsoon of tormented winds.

Hooded denizens came into view, when suddenly- "Everything you can't finish, I fix for you. _You'll never be free_."

A thick voice echoed clearly in his head, it was so familiar . . . No.  
It couldn't be, Mundus . . . The dark lord returned, he'd heard him directly.  
It was right in his ear, he couldn't mistake that.

Dread started to infect his mind once more. A cold hand gripped his shoulder.

The silver slayer trembled slightly as he turned around. Who was he who felt so inclined to impersonate his cursed beholder?

"Are you okay, sir?" A random man asked him.

"What . . ."

Vergil flinched back to the street, and there were a number of people walking about, going on with their daily routines.  
It was as if his cacophonous slaughter had not even taken place. Were they aware of the existence of devils, or was the grip of the order so strong they'd been bewitched into blissful ignorance?

He winced his wrist, and the man's head fell by the wayside, all the people began to pray as he thought they would not.

Leaving the corpse, he backtracked to where he'd killed before, a double check. The asphalt was normal and clean.

He knew he'd walked a longer distance than he'd come back, what was going on?

"Is this a joke?" He wondered aloud to himself.

Yet somehow, his memory of his time here was no more than certain flashes, vague echoes of certain moments.  
With a long exhale, he quickly detected the telltale signs that his brain still sought to wake itself from a nap.  
These twisted images were the vestiges of a dream, turning in on themselves in nonsensical ways, grasping to remain. All was gone except the will to be, a reflection in a cracked mirror.  
Then, from nowhere, came the memory of where he was supposed to be fighting these dark fiends, clearing all paths.

It played out as before, but the man never came.

The voice?

No time to wonder.

Had it happened or not? He was back where he thought he should be, close to the statue.

He gathered himself, his brown cloak once more severed from him as he continued his road beyond Sparda's effigy. He reached his house, once a fragment in the distance, where he used to live.  
Around the corner of a tailor's place he regularly frequented when he finally began to make ample funds for his regal tastes.

The old house was nothing like he remembered, the charm was gone. It'd all been rebuilt, replaced with modern prefab exteriors and the vegetation that once grew so plentiful had all been hacked away.  
All that remained were a few strands of grass amongst the long bricks. He knelt down and searched through the sand amongst the cement, until he found the key.  
Amazing that it still remained, as it should have been long gone, wasted away like a flower in the wind. But that was what this place did to things, it just held on, remembering all secrets dormant.

Just like how he remembered his time here.

The key looked stripped. Has it been that long? He touched the nordic-looking wood door, oddly the only thing that remained of his stay.

"Is that you, Gilver? Have you finally come back?" The voice of an elder echoed behind him.

He froze in place, it was a familiar timbre. It couldn't be, was he still alive?

Vergil reversed his head to look at the man who had hobbled up behind him, his hand clutching an old cane. Once he saw his face, the old man's look brightened.

"Unbelievable, you've returned!"

"M-. . . Marcos!?" Vergil couldn't help but respond.

The man was ancient by his standards even when he'd first met him.

"The very same." The man let out a hearty chuckle, unaffected by age, "You've grown. Nice new style. Poor Helena would have been happy, if she was still around."

Vergil shook his head and waved at him hesitantly.

The negative look on his face wasn't hidden particularly well.

"Wow, you _still are_ the same talkative bundle of joy." He heard the old man chuckle again, before he staggered by and shakily opened the door, "That old thing won't work, come in."

So many seasons in the abyss had changed his outlook, but the interior hadn't changed as much as the outside.

The house was filled with natural earthy tones and all the hues mother nature can provide. The paintwork on the trim was brilliant white, flawless.  
The path wound to a double oak front door, and was made from loose pea shingle.  
It's windows weren't the large ones that were so fashionable nowadays, but more the size he used to see in old country cottages, and like them they were mullioned.  
But that's where all the old-world charm ended, once across the threshold it was technology and modern design all the way.  
The floors were hyper-polished concrete and the furniture Scandinavian, high end designers only. It almost resembled a gutted warehouse, albeit with clarion halls.

The only compromise to modernity was the sheepskin on the floor, so clean it was hard to believe anyone had ever stepped foot on it.

Why was it so clean? Has someone been coming here and keeping it safe? Who?

Helena . . .

It'd been ages since he'd seen her.

It was a one story house filled with the price of half the money he'd ever earned. Vergil began searching for the bedroom.

It was almost a chore, the reckless redesign leaving him without a clue as to the houses's old architecture.

After a five minute period of jutting in and out of rooms without purpose, and others with distinct ones, he finally found it.

His old bunk.

The bedroom was medium-sized, with a gloomy umber color. Strange that it's original flooring had been maintained, as had all the other compartments.

The king size bed was covered with grey linens and blankets. He was never one for color, at least not back then.  
His mind drifted, remembering the figure of a woman sleeping there. Her raven hair covering the pillow like an inky shadow over the light.  
Her smooth, tan skin barely hidden by royal purple, satin sheets . . .

However the memory was cut short.

Within him, within his mind, that dreaded wrath began to boil up.

The fact that he had to go all over the place just to understand what happened to his brother, the fact someone was so disgusting that they didn't mind going in and disturbing the dead for their goals . . .

He wouldn't do this to his worst enemy.

. . .

* * *

 _Night had fallen fast upon the land._ No more than an hour ago, the sky was stained hues of red, orange and pink, but all color had faded away.

Now, only a matte black canvas: No stars to be looked upon.  
The darkness was abnormally thick, the lanterns in certain houses hardly lit the path, allowing a number of people to see, at most, about an arm's reach forward.  
Other than the darkness and himself, all that seemed to exist was the chilly wind that tested pride. It had a harsh bite, felt through any clothing rather easily.  
He could feel the hairs on his arm raise, and the bite of the wind had left its mark in the form of small bumps, though they soon faded. The affect was more than flesh-deep.  
A shattered goal filled his soul with a ruthless cry. His blood ran gelid through his veins, and his bones chilled themselves to the marrow.

This wasn't normal at all.

Vergil traversed the main path to the town's cathedral, it's prosperous light shining like an old golden beacon to the humans.

It was something horrid to those wicked few, whose borders could not be crossed for fear of true damnation.

Strange sounds crept up on his way.

It was more like a vacuum sucking the air backwards, robotically chipping the gusts away.

His stroll continued till it grew so loud he could find no solace.

The man stopped, his tall body looking positively unearthly in the dark.

Tilting his head back, he responded "If you're looking for blood, move on."

His demonic eyes can see clearly.

"Somebody help me!"

"No." He replied, then turned his back.

Vergil continued walking away as the boy's screams continued. So it goes.

A number of people had been dragging the poor man right in front of his eyes into some kind of portal. It was a sinful thing, the hellion vortex feeling rotten to the senses.  
Once more, he checked his surroundings. It seemed ice began gathered around the roofs ever so softly, crusting chips of itself to the edges. The ground went white, as if it'd been snowing for hours.  
The air around him felt heavy once more, like something around the corner would be coming for him. Within one second, a loud bang punched through the fog itself, roaring hungrily.

It left an obvious trail over the houses, like large claws pounced upon them.

"Another pawn? Or someone real this time?"

. . .

"Ghosts, come back for vengeance." He spat.

Like a wave, a number of knights appeared and drew their rapiers.

They took strategic positions around him, boxing him in. With a single hand, the crimson hunter unsheathed Yamato slowly.

"Cute."

The first man came forward and plunged his rapier forward.  
It passed through Vergil's flesh, but the slayer barely felt anything. He kept standing in place, looking down as if he hadn't noticed the wound.

He smirked in response, the knight took a step back.

Within a mere millisecond, the dark angel released a kick upward into the stout knight's mid section.

He sailed into an old-world spire, splattering against 18th century bricks before falling back to earth over thirty feet.

With a solitary swipe of his sword, he batted four away back into the rest of their compatriots, carved right in two through their steel plating.

They were nothing more than rag dolls to him, idiotic primitives in outdated armor.  
Nobody had told them that 1730 was long gone now, no need for sluggish weaponry.

One knight drew in behind him, bringing it's zweihander down towards the Cambion's neck. Calmly, without even looking, Vergil placed his katana back over his shoulder, blocking the strike.  
He sparked the blades together with a twist, forcing the oversized blade back, and the knight off his feet. Vergil shifted back, and brought his knee into the young boy's ribs.  
They cracked open, the metal chest plate splitting from the force as he travelled back to the ground sixty feet away. An older knight screamed at him, the boy was his eldest son.

"You murderer! Savior take you!"

"Better protect the weak when they're young, it would've saved him from me you hypocrite." Vergil responded, callous.

Another came at his side, but the slayer was too quick, stamping the man to the ground with a swift heel.  
He buried his boot deep into the knight's face, a torrent of red billowing out over all the men's gears.

The older knight screamed, "You'll burn in Hell for this!"

Vergil actually got a chuckle out of that one, and so shoved his free hand onto the knight's shoulder. He was sent back to the ground, hitting the hilly trail with his back. He tried sitting up.  
Cruelly, Vergil stomped on his chest, forcibly holding him down under the sole of his leather footwear. He kept chuckling, sociopathic.

"Hahaha, _burn!_ Ah, such a limited imagination. You see this?" He referenced the cutlass still stuck in his side from the first attack, "This is a killing blow on any other man."

Swiftly, he casually fenced off another two knights that tried to save their elder.  
He slashed their throats, pierced their armor, tore them to pieces as all the others kept their distance, afraid.

The slayer gripped the handle and ripped it from his side, then dangled the dripping edge over the man's face, kicking off the grandiose helmet.

"This is _my_ blood, from _my_ body. Happy are they who come to _my_ supper." He gleefully growled as the blood flowed off the metal, dripping onto the old man's face.

" _Father!_ " A young boy screamed through plate mail, and he ran forward to the towering demon from their unfocused formation.

Vergil casually whipped the rapier around, and the blade shot through the air, impaling itself through the adolescent's brain.

He fell to ground dead, and the old man screamed to the heaven's.

Vergil gravelly replied, "Yet another life . . . _You_ could have saved."

He then sent a judgment cut through him, dicing the knight in pieces, decorating the ground red. The reality of having killed a father and his two children hit Vergil hard.  
Where did that cruelty come from? It wasn't in his nature until now. A strange distance between himself and his actions grew . . . The action's of these people to follow a false prophet sealed their fate.  
And yet, his ruthlessness felt equally wrong. Far be it from him to ponder this in a fight, the other's took advantage of this moral distraction to spike him all at once.

Javellins, spears, swords, maces, the entire lot of a town's out-of-touch weaponry shot through him.

Vergil bared his teeth, and in a wild-eyed frenzy, released a torrent of sonic slashes that ended all but one life instantaneously.

Heads rolled, limbs came free, and a lustrous corpse party of a grim current bedazzled the streets of the city.

The last knight fell back on lower spine, cuts deep in his chest as all his friends fell to the ground, hacked to pieces. He began trying to wrestle himself back, but his heavy armor wouldn't let him get far.  
Bathed in darkness, the reaper of their souls came forth to his dying breath, katana in hand. Scarlet eyes met him, a symbol of vehement destruction, the end of life.

And the figure spoke to him . . .

"Take a look to the sky, just before you die. It's the last time you ever will."

Breathless, euphoric, he complied, and the stars were beautiful. Funny how such trivial things become so important in moments like this. But something started to happen.  
The stars started going out, the sky's becoming blacker and blacker till no light was here. In this new place, not even his mortal death-bringer had followed.  
Where he was, he couldn't say for sure, perhaps it was salvation. He began tumbling down a large hole of dirt and buried roots, bloodied still. And as he went it grew warmer, and warmer . . .

Vergil removed Yamato from the man's forehead, his journey to hell surely unenviable.

He staggered about, blinded by the weight of his actions. He wouldn't forget their screams, their faces . . . What compelled him to this violent end?

He was supposed to be fulfilling his brother's task of helping the helpless, not taking their lives from them. . .

Every once in a while, a good one came along, he supposed.

He put these thoughts to bed, straightening himself out as he seemed to completely gloss over the human blood covering his body.

Instead, he followed his senses, to where this creature was going.

It was big, and blind perhaps, the nature of it's tracks made no sense to him. Haggard and breathing heavily, he walked on.

. . .

* * *

A labyrinth of phantasm grey mist hung over Fortuna's forest. It seemed as if it had arisen as part of the greenery's wet breath.  
Hovering like voodoo vapour in the arcane twilight of the dusk, it was motionless as it surveyed the trees beneath.  
Like an apparition one might see over an ancient barrow, it was more than air and less than flesh. Kinless and kith-less, it wove itself together, increasing in density.

* * *

The trail of snow stopped there, upon a large hill it seems.

Just as he was about to jump, he heard a tantalizing feminine laugh. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then another laugh echoed.

Sounds of the longing, passionate moans, giggling through the wind.

Vergil whirled around looking for the source.

"Over here . . ." Moaned one of the voices.

He saw them: Two dancing figures watching him, longing for him.

They were two faery-like beings of ethereal beauty. Colored like water, they frolicked on air, nude.

Their long, flowing hair waved and floated, as if they were underwater, making them even more alluring.

Vergil was undeniably aroused for a second, but he knew better and that feeling was pushed back easily. This carnal duo seemed to be embracing one another, openly exploring their luminescent bodies.  
They began to run their hands over their supple skin, then gestured to him.

"Don't you want to come? Don't you want to play with us? Come here. . ."

Vergil rolled his eyes, annoyed. Another distraction.

He sighed and walked over.

When he approached one of them held out it's hand, awaiting his touch.

He seemed to raise his palm in response, possibly agreeing to the threesome.

His hand passed her's snaking towards one of them by the hair.

Seizing the frigid, giant lock, he snapped back, pulling her roughly, and dragging a large silhouette from within the snowy smog.

"Hiding behind lust. You really are insipid. Face me, coward." The halfbreed sneered.

The faeries were revealed as simple, luminous traps for a massive, scaly frog-like beast. It growled as it pulled itself together.

"You are smarter than you look." The giant toad spoke, bits of green saliva staining the ground ever so often, "The infamous son of Sparda. I can smell his seed anywhere. They told of your arrival."

"Who's they?" Vergil questioned, " _You_ are the one who kidnapped these people back in the city? Don't amuse me, toad."

It rasped, laughing at his questions. The crystal spikes on it's back revealed themselves, as did other amphibious features.

"The time is almost near. . ." The toad continued, "Daddy will return, you'll be here to witness it all."

"Daddy!?" Vergil questioned him, even more confused.

The anuran shook it's body, flabby joints and skin shaking out of fashion till snapping back into place. Some of the ice on its head broke loose. The pieces fell towards Vergil like bullets.

He drew Yamato, and dashed straight up at the frog, weaving through the icy bullets while they rained from the sky.  
The toad started backing up, trying to put distance in between them, but Vergil was moving far faster than he realized.

He zipped straight up to its mouth, then gathered power within Yamato's edge, the katana glowed almost purple.

He circled in place and struck the demon's lower lip with a downward slice. The force of the blow jerked the toad down, almost pushing it's head into the ground.

"Stand aside." Vergil hissed, backflipping over numerous feet, then sending a followup energy slash toward the creature.

The toad screeched and landed on it's weaker front legs, chin collapsing into the ground. The lip of the creature was torn open, bleeding red.  
Vergil stood up, watching the creature squirm in pain.

"Is that all you've got, Bael?" Vergil shook his head, and cocked his head to the side slightly, "Disappointing."

Before Vergil could reach him again, the toad took a deep breath, throat expanding.  
It swelled to ridiculously huge levels, and it let out a roar, mixed with jagged ice fragments.  
Vergil quickly charged against the forced winds and launched up through the air in a black blur, avoiding the deadly shards as they ripped forward below.

He coiled his hind legs as the beast leapt forward, jaws wide open. Vergil darted back, keeping himself just out of range, then rammed Yamato's hilt into the amphibian's chin.

Reversing his grip, he released a backhanded slash upwards, blinding one of it's eyes.

"You little-. . ." The demon growled, "Still, you are going to die here. I'm not. . . defeated. There's more of us."

"Have you bred since we last met? The frost toads are a disgrace to demon-kind."

"Oh yes, young one, I've bred a wondrous world of freezing torment. From beyond this hellgate, my kind is renewed to destroy you!"

The black obelisk behind it stood enormously tall, even larger than that of the creature.

"A time-waster; that's what you are." Vergil prepared to charge once again, not content to let someone else escape. A fog emerged and a figure stepped forward from it.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"D-Dante!?" He whispered.

The man before him had the face, the cloths: No doubt. However, his skin was paler than usual, potentially translucent.

Dante's lips slowly moved to a half a smile, before he walked away. Vanished down the path forward.

Vergil felt his legs weaken.

"W-wait!" He started following him, ignoring the toad and it's words.

His heart was pounding as he bolted uphill. The shadows of the trees lurched out from the darkness, shrouding everything in a crooked black shade.  
The wind yowled, slamming cold blasts of air upon him. He stumbled on every rock he encountered. He wanted to scream against the wind, to banish it like a god.  
Finally he spotted the gates of a graveyard, the moon was out, illuminating the pale circus at the cemetery gates.

Through the murkiness, the winds of Salem were whistling through the trees.

The place was empty, having stayed deathly silent for a long time.

"Dante!?" He called out.

"In the field's, so green and so free, the bodies are burning. Seeds gaze up through their husks." He heard a cold emotionless voice sing, it's lyrics twisted out of form.

"The clouds keeps them from the light, and the sky cries white tears of snow. I'm going to come find you . . . _I'm going to come find you . . ._ "

The last lines were stated instead of melodiously chirped, and they grew slower, more dissonant.

* * *

. . .

Eva started singing as the boys laid on her lap, each one resting on a thigh. Eyes closed, an unmistakable smile on their faces.

Her hands played with their hairs gently.

"Sweet dreams, my sons."

. . .

* * *

Vergil froze, desperate to see where the voice came from.

A figure jumped from the railing ahead.

"I've been waiting for you!" Dante's unmistakable voice addressed him. He didn't know what to say to that, he simply stood there watching him.

His head hurt, like it was about to pop like a balloon.

"Dante. . . What are you doing here of all places?"

"You failed," Dante spoke, pointing a literal finger, "I was right there in front of you, and you let me die. You're nothin' more than a hypocritical freak.  
You're weak, you wanna make a name for your self at the expanse of family."

"No, not true." He calmly replied, closed his eyes and decided to walk away. He needed to keep going and search for the Order.

"What!?" It exclaimed, "You're walking away!?"

"Does it surprise you when mind games don't work?" He asked, unbothered.

"I'm your brother, you will listen to me!"

"As much as I'd love to believe it were true, you can't. Don't even try."

With that, the slayer turned his back and kept walking.

Suddenly, a woman cried out to him, her head was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of her every pore.  
From her mouth came a cry from so raw that even the eyes of the strangers around were suddenly wet with tears. Vergil snapped his head to the sight, as old-world villagers gathered around a strange woman.

Dressed in black, her blonde hair was flying in the wind chaotically.

He grew closer, the crowd growing thin as they stepped away. Odd they would be here in the midst of a cemetery. They had to be spirits.

At the center, it was Eva, but her face was so pale. He barely recognized her, the grime of dried blood smeared on her face, and she was emaciated - dangerously underweight.

He kept his distance, his knowledge telling him to stay away.

"They took my baby. . . Why!? It should have been me." Eva silently spoke, pained.

From her eyes came a thick flow of tears. Crucified for no sins, now there was only pain, enough to break her. Pain, enough to change his perception beyond reality.

"Where are you Vergil!? What did they do to you?"

The child in her arms tried to pull away from her.

"Let me go mom, I'll search for him." The kid didn't wait for her to answer and broke from her grasp, tearing off into the dark.

As he did, her stomach wrenched open, held together by nothing.

She yelled after the boy,

"Wait, Dante. Don't go alone! Don't leave me . . ." She ended on a whimper.

She then stood slowly, and looked to her grown boy, standing before her. Her gutted figure was stick-like, shrouded by that black gown.

"This is my tomb, this is where I rest. I am interred in a dark place. Why weren't you there? I'm going to come find you." Her voice was deep, uncharacteristically hollow.

Her tears turned to scorching blood, outlining the edge of the incisions on her face; he hadn't noticed before now.

She opened her gangly arms, offering an embrace for him, her revolting body decaying as she took each rickety step.

Vergil felt paralyzed, this insanity from the pain he surely knew, his breaths quickening. He felt his body weakening, the sight itself sapping strength.

What's happening here!? No! _Stay away!_ This isn't possible!  
All horrors paled to this, his mutilated mother dragging her entrails with every step.

He heard an axe being ground, her rotted flesh coming closer with every move.

He couldn't hurt his mother, he wouldn't. It was his mom!

Slowly, slowly. . . She was mere inches away now.

Her nose had fallen off, and oversized maggots burst from the flesh on her face. Finally, he could bear it no longer.  
With a terrified, impulsive slice, he brought Force Edge crashing down from a personal void. A black scourge of power emanated from the blade.  
Her body bisected, falling to ash. It became indiscernible from the snow, and the villagers all faded away.

He fell to the ground and cradled the ashes in his black-gloved hands. Silence.

Force Edge laid there, impaled into the ground. Raw power surged from it's hilt.

He clutched it's handle, holding it almost like a person, down on his knees in the fallen snow. The ashes glowed on contact, imbuing the blade as they disappeared.

The blade was great, feeling comfortable to fall on. But a sharp spleen emerged inside him, the purity of his choler shining through the dark.

"Show-. . . Show yourself! Ulmarag." Once his vision cleared, his voice ragged.

The cemetery felt a lonely shell. The gates were open, blowing in the soft breeze.

"You did this Vergilius." A feminine voice echoed.

He scowled as he climbed to his feet.

With murder on his breath and wrath returned to his heart, the man summoned a black aura from inside himself.

"My mother never calls me Vergilius. Get out here, worm."

The sound of flapping wings filled the air, and the wind whipped around him. The demon appeared at last, a salvo of razor sharp black feather's racing toward him.

Vergil zoomed to his right, easily evading these treacherous shards.

With a smirk in it's ugly face, the horned beast greeted the devil-man.

"That may be the first time someone's referred to me that way. Good to see you've finally come." Ulmarag told him, "You are going to die this day, it's foretold."

His body had healed, but a scar remained across his face. A reminder of their previous battle.

"What are you planning!?" Vergil barked, "Speak, or I'll make you weep in that grave."

"All in good time, dear halfling. You'll find out soon." The demon snarled back, "Until then, _sleep. Now._ "

Wrapped in metal coils, the beast extended it's brutish hand and twisted it to the side.

And with that Vergil's vision was engulfed in darkness. He fell, face hitting the soft powdery snow.

...

The cool light of the hidden moon made the cloudy weather seem even colder than it really was, while the pale gleam filtering through the clean, half-closed windows made him seem strangely angelic.  
Almost like a mural in a gothic cathedral, even though his mere existence was sacrilegious to most orders. Moreover, he'd been forced to become more saintly than he ever had been in his life prior . . .

* * *

Still, his classical demeanor couldn't hold a candle to Sanctus, whose Pope-like garbs and Vicar headdress made him a truly divine individual to the human eye.

Agnus supposed Sanctus really was a saintly individual, his tenure with the order having only recently begun.  
The stammering scientist hadn't really become familiar with the group's goals, much less Sanctus as a person. All of this . . . Any of this.  
Perhaps a believer ought to feel something, looking down on the cold, gentle eyes of his mentor.

Yet, the middle-aged fellow had never been anything more to him than someone he should follow, a living, literal parable to serve as a spiritual guide. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Agnus. What have you to say of your findings?" Sanctus addressed him in a cool polite tone. His hands were resting on the desk, checking through scripture of some kind.

"Your Holiness. . . I was t-t-t-told," He stuttered, an issue he couldn't help, "It was successful. The amulet are ret-t-t-t-trieved."

"Wonderful, may the Savior be with you, my child. The time is almost here." Sanctus replied and motioned for him to leave.

Agnus bowed and left the small office.

He rounded right and went down the stairs. At the stairs bottom was a direct door to a freezing, glum room painted grey.

Several empty cages were gathered in the side. His work in the past.

It never bothered him much. He must do what must be done in order to succeed

He'd never held any leader as someone so holy they must be worshiped, no.  
The man had lusted and dreamed for the day Sparda returned and ruled over Fortuna, protecting all inhabitants from the nuclear warfare foretold of outside the city limits.  
Perhaps the two of them are not so different, he mused in silence. He couldn't lie to himself either. Agnus found himself stopping in front of a coffin like tube.

"What am I going. . . T-t-t-t-to do with you?" He spoke to the figure inside the coffin, clad in red cloths.

This is wrong!

Disturbing the dead was over the line.

Is Sparda really worth it?

Would Sparda even approve. . . ?

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this.**

 **The Author here..:** Ulmarag **powers are to use his victim's memories against them during the fight. Eva' scene is a real memory from Dante when he faced him before, at least when it comes to** the sadness **. It is a sight that's cruel to Vergil. A horrible event he never knew about, it's completely unreal to him because he could have never imagined it.**

 **Note: Agnus here is younger, so I figured he cannot be the same insane idiot from the game.**

 **I'm already working in chapter 14, I won't be late like before that's for sure.**

 **...**

 **Beta Reader Note (for publication): Hey all, Angel Wolf here. Just letting you know some stuff about this chapter before it goes out.**

 **The title is named for the Pantera song of the same** name, **but was ultimately written to 'Seasons In The Abyss (song)' by Slayer, and 'Cemetery Gates,' also by Pantera.**  
 **Lilian was experiencing** writers **block as a result of creative exhaustion, hence the long wait between chapters, while I myself was going through a serious depression.**  
 **This all boiled down to this new chapter, during which both of us sort of powered through our problems to try and just write at least _something._**

 **My idea was to really make this something brooding and dark, I'm not sure what LxJ's influences were at this moment, but they too were of a darker tangent than previous chapters.**

 **Feel free to ask me any questions both privately and publicly, I'll respond to everyone in addition to Lilian. That's all from me at the moment, enjoy it** you **guy** s.


	14. Chapter 14 Hush

**Chapter 14 - Hush**

* * *

"Pah!" She scoffed aloud, rolling over in her slovenly sheets as the sunlight hissed at her face.

Her disheveled raven hair lay scattered across her fine face, and every breath she exhaled smelled faintly of eviscerated, decomposing corpses.  
Thankfully, she had nobody to share this putrid moment with. Glancing around her room, she noticed a messy assortment of notebooks, freshly-sharpened color pencils and a pile of money.  
It was for aesthetic pleasure mostly, though she'd occasionally take some when work was drying out. Slowly but surely, she pushed herself out of bed, letting her feet hit the cool floor.  
There's no point in moping, she will be fine. At least for the time being, this pain in her chest would drive her into ruthless efficiency.

Time to do some shopping and walking around.

* * *

 **Elsewhere, a braying wind passed over the city, nighttime approaching so many hours after**

* * *

He hated this waiting game. His brother had made it look so easy, made all the numbers dance. He'd been able to recall the most astonishing details of possible places Sparda visited.  
But he was not his younger sibling, and he wanted to move on, to return to the demon world. But a debt kept him tethered here, it had to be done.

He can't leave him alone, that's the major issue.

The truth remained that he didn't know what to do. That was irony in writ made large, that was.

He had commanded _thousands_ of demons in battle. He had routed Mundus' armies like chaff on the wind, and now he was reduced to sitting here. What was he waiting for?  
Thinking up mad desperate plan after mad desperate plan, he'd only abandon each one as impossible. How had he gone from that feared, neutral demon, so great and dominating,  
to feeling the life drain out of him? From the very moment his mentor and close friend ended it all, his brother had returned to the human world, lost in the maze of corruption.  
How come it's got so cold? Why had it happened at all?

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, and let out a smooth, solid sigh. Even though there's much on his mind, he can relax just fine.

People-watching has become a habit for him.

His eyes spotted a woman with short black hair and white clothes. She appeared to be confused, wandering alone, even though she was walking as normal as a human could be.

It's what he learned from his time, observing the humans.

Nothing special really but something in his gut was telling him. . . Trouble hangs around her.

And just like that, he actually saw it; a dark aura following her. Almost hunting after her weathered figure, it pulsated strands of black to the heavens.

Hmmm. . . Bizarre.

He made up his mind to follow her and see. . . Et abierunt

Lady was feeling isolated recently.

Demons had been targeting her for some odd reason. She couldn't walk peacefully. Perhaps it was Arkham's doing, that clown.

Arkham. . . Where did he go?

She had to put an end to this lunacy, the sweltering chase of abandoned kinship growing stale.  
She can't bear the thought he's still out there, planning something to get her, and perhaps kill more people in the way. . . For fun. Searching for seas of gold led her astray.  
The idea of freedom dominated her every move.

The truth is she wanted to leave with Dante, but not who he'd become. She wanted to bring his old self back, leaving and forgetting this unforgiving world behind.

Sailing away; if only.

For a moment is better, but he gave her no chance to offer help.

It was going to take time, but the two of them might pull through this.

Lady took a turn over the side street, ready to check the office one more time for Morrison, for anyone.  
She needed to check with him one more time, to what purpose she wouldn't say.

 _Drr... Drr... Drr..._

A rumbling. . .

Lady stopped in her tracks, drawing her pistols to the surroundings. Her reflexes were far greater, must be the result of recent hardships. At least some positivity came out of it.

The street lamps flickered all down the right side of road, and she knew something hid in the shadows.

A thickening smog drifted down.

Heavy claws scraped over the concrete, as something approached her; from where, she couldn't tell. Abruptly, all the lights illuminating the avenue cut out.  
She found herself drenched in darkness, unable to forgive herself for letting this happen. The alley rustled, and the wind died. Creaking sounds emerged, the buildings shuttering.  
All around her, wood beams and concrete swayed, and the growing sounds of claws scraping terra firma made her spine shiver. Scuffs sparked memories, bad ones.  
Makes her fight through the raging maw, the swallowing damnation coming after her pretty hips.

Lady's eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The lights rebooted, extremely dim, still glinting constantly.

Every flicker or so, a shape of the hunched creature became clearer and clearer.

Getting closer, over the sudden change of dusk's light, ever so near did it draw. She prepared herself, strong legs anchoring her discomfort as she took aim.  
Sweat dripped down the side of her left temple, and strain gripped her fingers. The trigger pulled, a sonic launch of lead broke through.  
It stayed still, the shots hitting but not stopping. From the umbra, the creature bolted, as if she couldn't see it coming. The brutish figure came right in front of her.

Shoving it's arm in her side, the beast knew nothing of her more than a simple idea.

War was what it was bred for, the soil of the earth making it's cracked dawn split.

She slammed against a nearby wall, a shout of pain escaping her breath. During the fall, her elbow struck the floor first. By reaction, she pulled upon the handle. The bullet wedged itself into a brick wall.  
With power in her lungs robbed, she stumbled a bit while the monster came closer, obscured by venomous shadows. It's ratty hair secured the image of an undead hulk, nails grinding the sidewalk.  
It's arms hung far down to the ground, the deathly pincers ready to kill prey, not deserving.

She shook her head, a constant chill inside as she let her gun shout.

The shells rolled toward her attacker. . . Lady told herself to focus.

Gazing up, the young woman saw furious crimson eyes glister from the fickle black, above an ebony snout.

Before her stood a demon, but this one was different. Lady blinked her eyes to check if she saw this thing correctly.

In the inky fog lay a savage, two-headed thing. Both mugs looked animalistic, wolf's teeth salivating out of instinct. A twisted growl shifted the atmosphere, and those eyes looked accompanied.  
Eerily incandescent, a strange blue glow bathed it's other retina's. Sharp as a fine diamond sword, the razor fangs inched towards her, her thick thighs looking delightful.  
It's skin was mostly scar tissue, hidden beneath onyx fur, squalid and diseased, yet it shivered in the early fall breeze. Tufty and thin, the pelt provided no protection to the elements at all.  
On the torso and face were recent scabs from a meal that fought back, now it picked at them with blood-soaked talons to relieve the boredom of the stake-out.  
Then came movement from the dwelling, the wait nearly over. For such a carnivore, it moved surprisingly stealthy, leaving behind only a trail of large dandruff flakes and heinous odor.

Closer it came, moving like a sullen twitch of death.

From the darkest heart, Lady didn't waste time. Regained focus, she rolled to her back.

"Well there's something new." She whispered and took aim.

One bullet pierced it's chest, which made it's lungs breath strangely, the creature came closer, hissing. The lights closed out, shrouding everything as the unholy sprinted, slamming it's fist to the ground.  
Lady rolled over, the behemoth limb shattering concrete. Keeping her aim focused, she fired again. A holy water-soused bullet rocketed into it's left blue eye.  
It reeled back, clutching the wound with both paws. Screaming to the sky, the beast released a ruthless charge, it's infested fur liberating bits of matter as it went.

She'd managed to get to her knee, the other leg prepared to stand, but the demon held it's left arm at the ready.

Plunging forward, it assaulted scabrous, blood trails flowing through the air. Crying for her flesh, it lunged to the air, spiraling for a slash.

She dove off to the right, it's arm planting into the ground.

A hole punched in the sod, now it's limb could not be freed.

It was stuck for a moment as it tried to pull itself out. Lady took the advantage, pulling a loaded Uzi on her dark guest. The coming spray of bullets stripped off rotted flesh, lacerating the bones.  
This old fiend yanked it's arm loose, finally released from it's shattered prison, then shrieked during the onslaught. It pushed past her fire, growing more mutilated and strange.  
It swung a fist into a lamppost. She ducked in time, the blinking machine falling atop the creature's two craniums. It rested between, making it awkward to move as she pushed past the elongated limb.

Shooting off wildly, each bullet chewing on the creature's back.

Grabbing the post, it swung it around like a baseball bat, knocking her off her feet.

The taste of iron flooded her mouth. Her back hit the tar, and it felt as though at least two ribs had snapped.  
It thrashed the pole around, smashing glass as it howled to the sky. Busting through metal, it tore apart cars and threw the weapon into a wall.  
Spiked through, the monster zeroed back in on it's target, the pain leaving. Ancient savages like itself weren't skilled at focus.

Trudging forward, it grasped her head and hoisted her up.

Well, what now? This was it she supposed.

Before it's hand closed, a sudden presence overtook them. It was beyond good and evil, feeling like it came from a different space altogether.

"Et abierunt, puellae dimittere turpi bestia!" She heard a man shout, the language completely foreign to her.

The strange demon's eyes widened, and it dropped her crumpled form to the ground. Losing courage, it slipped back away, out of her fallen vision.  
It fled the street, leaving the earthen plane outright. The soil relaxed, and the atmosphere calmed. Lady spat out blood as she lifted herself onto her side.

Once more, as she stumbled, her brain flummoxed from the sight of such a Daemon.

First time she felt like this, she made the connection deep down that the recent appearance of that lame 'Order' was somehow connected

Lady checked behind her and saw a man with dark hair standing a few feet behind her. She coughed some more, laying there silently. He acknowledged her,

"You look awful." He said, genuinely concerned for her steadily worsening condition.

"Thank-. . . -You." She spat out from her damaged lungs.

"A creature like that shouldn't appear here. Something is _very wrong_." He spoke in a calm polite manner.

Lady grabbed her scattered pistol, "Who the hell are you?"

"I am Modeus." He replied casually. "I ask of you to tell me, have you seen a creature like that before? When was it?"

"That was the first time." Lady replied, her energy diminished.

Modeus took out a vial of liquid, though what is was couldn't be identified. He poured a small drop into her listless lips. Slowly, her body felt rested.  
She tried to move, and surprisingly, her broken ribs had put themselves back together. She couldn't fathom why, or even what the substance he gave her was.  
The idea was obscure, perhaps a supernatural remedy. Either way, she was thankful.

He stood and let her move around, scanning the streets as the lights returned on, and the power finally stabilized.

She breathed in heavily, her lungs feeling brand new, in fact even stronger than before.

"Hah, come to think of it. . . Something's been off ever since yesterday." However she ceased this, realizing she was talking to a stranger who could easily turn out to be just another demon.

Lady backtracked slightly, and abruptly pointed her Submachine Gun at his face.

When he turned, he flinched, disappointed and caught off-guard all at the same time.

"Who are you? One of these demons wondering around?" To her surprise, the stranger merely showed exasperation.

With a sigh he spoke, "I assure you miss, I'm a non-hostile demon who was just passing through on my own, and I don't involve myself with any human death."

His reply was deadpan, and then he took a step toward her.

Lady backed away slowly, still keeping the barrel trained.

Modeus tensed slightly, "Look, the only reason I followed you here is to see what that thing was that followed you. . . I cannot comprehend the notion."

Lady lowered her weapon slightly, "What do ya mean?"

Modeus lowered his gaze to the ground.

"I'm not. . ." He blushed, "I'm not _into_ that. I don't kill humans or eat them, or whatever."

She looked at him skeptically.

"I'm serious, I'm not your enemy." He was formal in most every way, "The two-headed wolves are Sparda's followers. They vanished eons ago along with him. They _never_ leave his side."

"So if they-" Lady whispered.

"Yes." He replied immediately, "But why would they attack humans? They're loyal creatures who follow Sparda's orders. If he wills himself not to kill, they don't either."

Lady rubbed her forehead.

"Who are you!? Why are you telling me this?" She said, her stance becoming more feminine.

"I can sense that you have the blood of the priestess, you are connected to Sparda." He answered and crossed his arms.

The priestess who had been sacrificed in order to seal Temen Ni Gru; barely anyone knows this fact, if there _is_ anyone who actually knows. Unless they researched it deeply; and that means _deeeeeeply_.

"Do you know where his children are? I must speak with them."

* * *

 **With combat over, the restless duo heads to a coffee shop, unable to trust one another fully**

* * *

The tiny café huddled despondent among the towering city blocks. Washed out under the overcast sky, it hunched into itself, fighting against the drizzle.  
Hundreds of people rushed by it, outside on the crowded street. Performers both outside and in; the outdoors containing acoustic guitars while the inside had a relaxing jazz band.  
By night time, this cafe is the color of supermarket oranges, that shiny, fresh look glistening all through it's interiors.

The jazz pours out of the open doors, along with the aroma of fresh baked Italian and French foods: Lasagna, Ratatouille, Bucatini, Ragu, Coq Au Vin. It was all there.

Of Lady's favorite places to eat, she always came here in the morning for coffee, before starting about her usual day.

The dozen or so customers glanced up as the door swung open, heralded by a blast of cold wind as the two of them entered. Several seemed to stare at Modeus and the strange aura around him.  
The length of his strikingly-dark hair helped that even more. The customers returned to their conversations as the door closed behind the new occupants and the cold breeze was forgotten about.  
Lady chose her usual table by the window, when a young man came over.

"Good evening Lady, the usual?" It struck him as odd that she came at night.

"Hey Josh," She replied with an uncharacteristic smile, nodding, "Yep."

She never smiled, but here, it was solace. The atmosphere was kind.

Josh gazed at the emotionless man, "What would you like, sir?"

Modeus crossed his arms and replied, "One strawberry sunday, if you have it here."

"Got it." Josh nodded, and returned behind the counter.

He was a typical server in eateries like this, dressed in all black with a customary apron in front.  
It was a refreshing slice of normalcy in a demented world like this.

Awkward silence filled the air, between the two of them, neither was very good at socializing.

Lady chose to finally speak, "You said you know 'the priestess.' Can you-? Can you tell me more about her? I need to know."

The stern look on her face said it all.

Modeus sighed. She wasn't sure if it was sadness or a bother.

"Her name was Charlotte, I still recall. She had the longest raven hair, a testament to humanity's genetic structure. It reached down to her knees, covering her lovely complexion."

Lady leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles. She listened carefully.

"She was known among humans for her spiritual power. But, their thoughts about her were torn. Some feared her. Rumors were spread among certain children that she was a criminal.  
Other people believed her innocence, though they grew to be the minority. She was an outcast for most of her time." He paused for a moment, a sad sorrow in his eyes,  
". . . By that era, Sparda was still in war against demon-kind, he couldn't seal them away, not yet. He thought he could trust her, so he sought her help to bring peace once and for all."

His face seemed to brighten briefly, "That's when I met her."

Lady took a moment to absorb what she just heard, on a personal basis. She moved her hands down, placing one on the table and one beneath.  
She soothed the side of her thigh. For whatever reason, it helped her calm down when she was nervous.

Lady was, for real, tied to Sparda? Tied to the legendary knight of darkness. . . The tale seemed little more than myth.

"How long did you know her? Did you miss her when she-. . . You know." She inferred the painful event.

He chuckled, much to her surprise.

"The truth is. . . I feel like I'm looking at her right now. The only difference is those eyes."

Her hand flinched beneath the table, and her face grew worried. These eyes were her father's. . . Hereditary Heterochromia Iridum of the same exact coloring; an extreme rarity.

He noticed her face, "What's the matter?"

She collected herself.

"You're honest with me, right? You aren't some kind of demon filth, trying to lure in human prey?" Lady muttered.

At last, some kind of an emotion was evident in his face.

A sense of tenderness. . . A bizarre warmth.

"I swear on my honor, young one, _I am_ telling you the truth. It's like she's reincarnated through you."

She closed her eyes, cleared her head.

"What do you need my help for? You're a demon, you'll be fine on your own right?" She asked him point blank.

Modeus placed something on the table in front of her.

"This is something only for you. Charlotte's descendent is the only one capable of wearing it."

Once Lady checked it out, it was a necklace of some kind, with the oldest, most ornate design she had ever seen. Purple jewels graced the middle, glittering every time a light graced it.

"If the wolves spread, it means chaos is upon us. Ragnarok. . . Please tell me where Sparda's children are, their lives are in danger."

"What's happening? Explain: I can't help if I don't know what's going on." Lady answered urgently.

" _They_ _are_ _the sacrifice_ , in order to reawaken him, or what's left of him. This day I felt the existence of an abomination. It's growing stronger."

Lady's eyes widened.

"Dante!?" She whispered, but she caught herself, "No, he'll be fine, he can take care of himself."

"You don't comprehend this. Something seriously wrong is happening. I can't describe it well, but it's like something is disturbing this realm, from the shadows.  
I've never felt something like this in my thousand years." He glanced down at his plate, deeply pondering.

Looking back up at her, he involved the woman in his thoughts.

"You can help delay this thing, if we can just buy Sparda's sons enough time to finish it off."

* * *

 **In a darkened city, the Genesis begins, and revelations howl**

* * *

The clangor of swords had died hours ago, the bellowing slaughter hushed; silence laid bare on the red-stained snow.

The bleak night's moon glittered so blindingly from the iced earth, that the snow-covered stationed struck sheens of silver from a number of broken spears, where all the dead lay in a heap.

"Dear lord!? What happened here?"

A tall young man with brown hair froze for a moment. He couldn't believe his eyes, he didn't want to anyway. He never saw something like it, even in his worst nightmares.

The little time he spent serving the order was always quiet and peaceful.

Now, he was seeing something his eyes couldn't ever erase.

The adrenalin flew through his veins like a carp through the river, but he was locked in place, unable to move a single muscle, not even to call out for help.  
To let the other men know, inform _someone_ to tell His Holiness. The choking horror completely paralyzed him, and the more he thought about running away, the more he felt discouraged.  
It was utterly terrifying, because the beast that did this _was still in the city somewhere_. And that was just the beginning. That idea only made it worse.

If that was even possible.

"W-Who did this?" Most of the deceased had an unforgettable scream etched in their face.

A couple of the order's men rushed over, and started checking them one by one, looking for any survivors possible.

"Whoever did this is clearly sending a message to us." Credo heard one of the men speak.

"It is a cryptic warning, that's for sure. What are we to do?" Credo questioned the others.

An older man came forward from the middle of the group.

"Keep calm, His Holiness is looking over this as we speak. For now, we should remove the bodies and try to avoid public panic as much as possible."

"Okay, okay. . ." Credo agreed.

* * *

He ascended the stairs, giving but a glance out the glass windows to the gardens below.  
Up another flight, and through the shelves, narrow pathways led to another great glass mural, giant and ornate.

He could see out over the center courtyard of the cathedral, the nighttime sleet giving Fortuna a warm forgiving look.

Behind it's surface was a roman office and a table, upon which sat parchments, scrolls, holy scriptures, and books of all knowledge.

And who sat at this desk was the Master himself.

"Credo, fear not child" He heard, turning to face his most beloved mentor.

"Master." He replied.

"Come forward. You need to listen," The old man gestured, his voice warm, or as warm as it could ever be, for the distance he held to everyone.

"This demon behind the massacre will not scare us away." Sanctus spoke sharply, "Our savior _will_ awaken, and he will rule all. My plan is working as we speak, something I saved for an emergency."

Credo bowed his head, "Your Holiness, my adoptive brother has been sensing the chaos since yesterday."

"You speak of Nero?"

"Yes." Credo replied, "He hasn't slept well, crying, confused. It's like something familiar is coming to him, making him hear things in the night."

Sanctus crossed his arms and he started to pace back and forth, thinking of the situation.

"Where is Agnus? Bring him to me now. Make haste." He motioned with his fingers.

"Yes, Your Holiness." Credo bowed and left immediately.

Walking out the cathedral doors, he strode uncomfortably through the square. Out the gates he went, on a mission. His walk was determined, formal.

"What's the hurry?" A man of the order pestered, following behind.

He'd been waiting outside to hear of the Master's news.  
It wasn't fair that Credo always received orders directly, there were other devout followers as well.

"Everything's the hurry. Do you think this demon is just going to sit back and let us ride around investigating him?"

"I suppose not. After that massacre, nothing can assure our safety."

* * *

Sanctus placed his hands behind his back, pacing back to his desk. A great swell of air emerged from his lips, his breaths powerful despite his years.

"What did the survivor say about this demon?"

His new visitor's face changed to deep shock.

"He said. . . The demon looked like an angry 'reaper' of souls. He had the pride and aura of a dread lord. He killed them all without showing remorse."

Sanctus smirked.

"So, it's really him. The fearsome Nelo Angelo."

* * *

 **In a dark place, the ensouled one remains**

* * *

Vergil woke to the sound of breathing that wasn't his own. It was heaving, like an animal rapidly running about.

He can't think of why; his heart was pounding, mind felt empty.

He listens, still, feeling a vibration. He's moving slowly, his heavy feet creaking against floorboards that were silent for him. Slowly, flashes of Ulmarag returned to him.  
The Cambion jolted awake, the box disintegrating around him. He found himself still in the forest, but not really in the same place. He'd been moved.

There were a number of hooded people surrounding him.

He so hated it when they died too soon, but he had to punish them. They were dirty arrogance. They dared to take his brother away and practice dark magics that weren't their's.  
In his mind he knew it was his right to bear arms against them, their light escaping from his tormented hold so many times already. A good life wasn't measured by any biblical span.  
Should they try to speak to him, he would slice them. If they tried and fought back, he would slice deeper. That cold look reflected on his face, giving the only survivor serious shudders.  
His hands tightly closed around the freezing surface of the hilt, his Katana at his side.

He seemed to have no sense of heart, as if he were stone.

They ran from him, but he came like the black plague. No matter where they went, he was there. Taking heads, piercing hearts, it was all good fun.  
Woe to them, their numbers expired, he just had a duty to fulfill, one they could never comprehend. He stood laughing, blood salting the soil.  
He'd make good on his promise, or so these hypocrites would soon learn. Life is a terrible thing to waste, but what good is it when all they do is vicarious?  
It was a favor from the damned, they requested death. He simply heeded their call.

Limb after limb, body after body. . . Soon the forest desecrated, his captors all mince meat.

But for what are we born if not to aid one another? He'd brutally killed all these people who wanted to arrest him, to steal from him the life he was intent to live.  
They would never forget the evil glint in his beady eyes. The murderer had smelt of blood. Of danger.

Of wolf and man.

"What have you done to us?" The man asked, "What are you?"

He was an adolescent, no older than nineteen or twenty. He sat with his back to a tree trunk, left leg missing. His pinky and ring finger's cauterized nubs, he sat in anguish as the silver slayer came.

Vergil smirked, his eyes insane. The beauty of his annihilation pleased his darkest, most hateful desires.

"Oh, I see the benign damage I caused you all, and it's nothing but a satisfying sight. You all will pay, I will see to it. Death is but a fraction, my friend, of the misery you will feel."

And it was the last words the young man heard, before his own death.

Vergil stopped to think this through, their bodies lay like ghoulish mannequins, the esophagus and arteries sticking out, like corrugated, rubber tubing

The term 'murderer' was now reserved for psychopaths, and he flew on a stream of blood-red death. If the killing was done for means of survival, no one could think less of you.  
There were those that took life and crumpled under the weight of guilt, even if they'd no choice. There were some who killed when necessary and never lost a wink of peace of mind over it.  
That was pretty much where he sat, his friend of misery. At least what he thought. . .

He no longer understood what he was anymore.

No, that can't be right. He's a demon, there's nothing more to understand. It's part of his nature.

What would mother think of this?

Should she be involved? She'd brought him into this world, raised him to love, not to demolish. The world was a fine place worth fighting for, and he hated very much to leave it.  
Funny that, in these moments, when shadows so heavily consumed him, his morality had become just like his brother's. In a twisted way, he felt to be better than he was before.  
The mind was a terrible thing to waste, locked in a place he couldn't escape from.

Where is his humanity?

The forest felt dark, the trees looming over the earth like black towers of hate.

Love of life, love of loathing; it all met here.

The dark was not in the sense of the absence of light, but the sinister magic became evident to a strong, overwhelming degree.

And yet, there was peace in its sullen ambience.

He wondered how long these people had been practicing rituals. More importantly; why?

Eyes flickered over the thickets, massive shady tree trunks and vines that rose steadily into the sky. Branches interlocked with neighbors like giant's arms linked together, protecting their home.  
Unity. He'd never felt that with anyone. The trees so densely packed together, it left just enough space to allow someone to maneuver through.

He pressed his palm against its rough bark, and breathed in the scent of the forest.

Beyond his dwelling of death, he felt life.

"What was that. . . !?"

A sound of wailing merged with the whistling of the wind, cutting through the woods. It came close to sounding like a kettle boiling, moving about.

Whatever it was, it was shifting, running with the wind. Even it's scent was strange.

It seemed to streak across the trees in a zigzag pattern towards him. The creature had a black robe, ripped and torn.

It crashed to the ground before him, rising up to stand from it's knees.

A blood-curdling shriek, the piercing scream caused him suffering unlike any other.

He held his ears and felt the blood trickle out.

The entity was a woman. It stood tall and thin, long white hair flowing out of the hood. It's skin was a brown tan, eyes bulging.

"You're late, someone I know already died." He shrugged it off and continued walking, leaving the Banshee behind.

Why in the name of flaming Ifrit that every time he effectively reaches something that could give him answers, give him peace of mind, at last, a pain-in-the-rear demon literally materializes out of nowhere, preventing it!?  
Vergil' face registered an expression of sheer annoyance, blue eyes flashing a strange, fathomless glance at something flying in the sky.

Annoyance did not even begin to cover what he felt. Murderous rage was more like it, under these disgusting circumstances.

Something he is still having a hard time believing.

Silently he cursed his ill fate; wondering what he'd done to be constantly bothered by those from his past.

Flashes of Temen-ni-gru played in his mind.

That must be it, a punishment for his crime.

It's like the whole world wants to stop him. The funny thing is, he just wants Dante back. Screw everything else.

And apparently, he's not allowed to do so. No second chance for him.

The serpent in the sky landed down beside the banshee.

It's mouth opened wide, then folded back like a flower. From its gullet sprouted a woman's torso, clothed in an elegant set of leaves.  
Screaming, the she-viper dove at Vergil. He jumped out of the way, landing casually on a moss-covered arch.

"Hey sweetheart," He snarled, Dante-esque, "I'm seeking something else! Either you give it to me, or I force it out of you. 3 seconds to answer."

"My, aren't you a handsome devil," She replied calmly, ". . . Though you know the deal! I-!"

"Times up."

Vergil galloped forward, the rage of beast pouring through to meet her, Yamato ready like usual.

Echidna floated up, coiled like a spring. She spun and whipped her tail across the scenery. Destroying tree after tree, she cleared away the ground to be a flat pile of crushed lumber.  
He departed the ground, up, up and away, missing her vain attack completely, then kept a descent. Continuing his rush, he hacked at the air faster than light. Little sonic slashes crashed against her.  
They broke apart against her chest, not powerful enough to rip the skin. Damn it!

He was almost in actual range when she retracted into her body.

The dragon head returned, jaws ready. To slay a dragon, he'd immolate himself.

Vergil was able to shift to the side just as it's jettison jaws came chomping, feeling her hot breath as she passed by. Echidna swooped high into the sky, then came roaring back down at Vergil.

He promptly rolled out of the way again.

She coiled around, snaking for another pass. Tired of this lame tactic, Vergil sent out aqua blades from the force edge, summoned swords aiming for the creature's head.

And he must have hit a perfect spot, for she suddenly veered, grinding against the ground.

Popping back out from her facade, she stumbled about to kill him.

Before Vergil could attack, she looped in the air, then shot tail first into the ground, burrowing up to her mane.

Seeing her wide open, he charged.

Echidna merely sat there, smiling wickedly, then shifted into a glamorous pose. The ground below him suddenly opened up. Thick, cyprus tendrils shot from the ground.  
The demon must have had the ability to extend them, they seemed to be smaller versions of it's own body. Now, he was surrounded by them, drilling faster and faster as they circled.  
They began to swat down, the dangerous barbs slicing all around him.

Vergil danced furiously to avoid them, how embarrassing. From every direction they came; left, right, above, and all the angles in between, spinning and thrashing wildly.

One thorn-ed blade sliced clean through his shoulder. It seemed to stop him, but he felt odd. The wound healed instantly, it was like nothing to him.

He barely even felt the pain.

Echidna hooted in wild laughter when her scheme landed. Grasping her barb, he crushed it in his right hand, dealing pain up through it's nervous system.  
Next came the barb's disintegration. He bolted straight for the now-very surprised Echidna, goring out a demonic roar. She began to burrow out of her nest, but not before Vergil struck.  
Yamato bit clean through her chest and out her shoulder.

He felt his nerves gathering, and the strength within him stewed. In paltry seconds, he unleashed the Majin form.

His cruelest beliefs, his worst feelings, and all the rage in the world brought to the physical plane.

Vergil braced his feet against her, then yanked up and away, pulling Yamato free and tearing through her flesh at the same time. The katana glistered purple as it vanished and he hovered above.  
Releasing his arms to the side, crimson lances of energy emerge, pulsating a gloomy aura. He charged once more, and burrowed both blades in her chest, all before she knew what was happening.

"You shall die." He spoke, and vanished within the aura. A lavender shadow moved within an unbelievable field of speed, barely visible.

Echidna let out a loud shriek of agony as the demon ripped through her torso, gashing at her from all directions.

He kept tearing away, throwing parts of her all across the ground with his claws. The creature tried to escape, but he pulled it back in, crushing her sinew in his hands right before her eyes.  
It kept happening, more and more she felt parts of her torn free, severed from her core until she was barely alive. Raising her limp body high above, Vergil held her face in his hands.

He just stared at her, holding her their for minutes on end.

Virtually none of her tail remained, merely a fetid green stump survived in it's place. Her top half wasn't recognizable by human standards, flesh flayed and limbs missing.

Rain began to fall, soaking the trees and all it's companion-leaves into the earth, pieces of her burying.

Finally, as he gazed into her eyes, he spoke.

"Tell me what I wish. I don't want your easy death on my hands yet, share with me what I seek, then you'll have my permission to die."

It was the blackest speech ever uttered, each word containing more malice than the burn of the sun. She squealed, desperate to flee him.

Smiling, he let go it's mangled shape, and so it fled, to become dust again.

She flew into the trees, disappearing from sight. The unnaturally long night continued.

The Majin touched down upon his feet, scanning the tree line for movement.  
It was close, he could sense it. He couldn't see her, but he could hear her ripping apart the foliage as she writhed about. The snake returned at last barely alive.

Vergil came forward, still triggered, "Are you still breathing?"

He slammed his scaled, taloned-foot onto it's face.

He towered above, sadistically watching her for eternity.

"Tell me, what are the pathetic ranks of the Order planning? From where do they conduct their desperations?"

Echidna moaned out in pain.

"It's as I said. . . Your powers are uncanny. It would awaken him."

His foot crushed down even further, grinding her head into the bark-covered soil.

She squirmed for him to release, but it didn't come.

"My patience is running low."

"Dante will form the core, it will awaken Sparda- Urgh! Sparda's power." It managed to finish, despite his compression.

The demon chuckled through sanguinary pain, "More like it would awaken. . . The end of this city, and later, the dominance of humans."

"What!?" The sense of shock he felt was indescribable.

* * *

. . .

* * *

 **"No . . . I-it hurts . . ."**

 **Vergil turned his back to him and lifted his small torso onto his shoulders. Dante grabbed ahold of his shirt to stay up.**

 **"Climb on me, I'll carry you." The child remained stoic in the face of bad fortune, despite the other boy being less** strong willed **, at least for now.**

 **He soothed his brother's worry, "We better hurry, mom's gonna be worried."**

 **He kept walking as careful as he could, to avoid him falling off.**

 **"Vergil?" He heard him whisper.**

 **"Yes?" He replied.**

 **"You'll always help me when I'm down right?" Dante sincerely wondered.**

 **Vergil lightly chuckled, "Of course, I promise. We'll stick together always."**

* * *

. . .

* * *

"Dante will form the core, it will awaken Sparda!" It said again, his foot still planted, "Please let me go! You _promised!_ "

Vergil clenched his inhuman fists, his own blood dripping from where his fingers punctured the flesh.

"I promised nothing."

It screamed just as he closed the amphibious claws of his daemonic foot together, crushing her head in his grasp like a bird with quarry. From the side, he saw the Banshee in black.  
She'd taken fair form, snow white hair against her smooth tan skin. She walked towards him slowly, a serious-minded expression on her face.

"Come to join allies in death? How noble." He said as he raised his hand, preparing to release a blast of pure scarlet wrath.

But she surprised him in her response.

"If this is what the Order wishes us to fight, then I have no interest. They operate in the eastern quarter of Fortuna." She told him.

If he could raise an eyebrow, he would. His granite pupils stared out, silent.

"You'll find them across an overpass called the Gran Album Bridge."

"What else do you bring?" He questioned.

"Unless you require service of a carnal nature, I am of no more use."

Her form had become exquisite, unlike any he'd seen. But now was not the time for distractions, so he shook his head.  
She nodded back, and so vanished into thin air. His gratitude to her was as a moment of silence. The remains of Echidna evaporated as rain, turned snow, fell in the new plain.  
Ascending high in the air, opening his wings, he departed for the bridge. Above, the powder gently collected against his wings. One thing was left on his mind.

Back toward the main meat of the place, the city of Fortuna.

Finally, after minutes on end, he found the only major bridge in town. It was a long forgotten structure.

The path to the temple was open. He could see the Gran Album Bridge, the one so fabled by his strange Banshee. It spanned a hundred meters out to sea and to the base of this Order.

He flew down to the beginning of the viaduct.

It was to absorb the sights as they were, untouched by greed.

The Gran Album Bridge was truly a major feat of architecture. The long, narrow crossway had high struts of Gothic design that shot far into the air at regular intervals.  
It was so thin that only three people could walk abreast at one time, a technique used in olden days for defense. Many a legend could be explained by this, such as one man versus many.  
At the end of it was the Order of the Sword's headquarters.  
Unlike the bridge he traversed, it was just a massive rectangle of white stones, with a few windows dotting the front. A long staircase rose from the end of the bridge to the front of the structure.

At the top was a wide, circular platform, which acted basically as a doormat.

Halfway across the plinth, he arrived.

The construct stunk of pretension, a disease he would eliminate. He growled one more time before he ran forward.

He blasted the entrance doors off their hinges, though it seemed like a dream, he had seen a vast sarcophagus made of what looked like granite.  
As he'd approached it, it had begun to glow, but with a light that was welcoming. He touched it's lid, and it had opened as if it were light as a feather.  
From it, an all-encompassing golden light glowed, and from within that glow arose a figure whose features Vergil could not make out. He knew he was looking at a shadow of a man.

Of unnatural stature, it wore a helmet and an armor of some kind, ancient. It possessed a lance, impractically long.

The corona surrounding left him with what would be blinded eyes to see.

There was a noise like glass breaking in the distance, or the sound a falling star might make—it was laughter of something demonic.

"I don't understand!" He charged forward and attacked, with a simple swoop from his astral shank, the beings turned to ash.

'The smell! Father!?' He frantically thought.

Vergil trounced around, breaking down colossal doors and destroying objects of holy worship. Then, he ground to a halt, finding himself in the open air of the outdoors again.  
What he saw now was something he'd never dreamt of. Who would have thought this Island hold something like this.

A great, circular hall rose up to the sky in a column. Endless cloisters spanned up at methodical interims.  
Everywhere he looked was gray stone, built in elegant arches and columns, like an ancient temple.

In the center of the cylinder was what appeared to be a massive thing, looking like a mummified creature. The height and width for it was a little too abnormal to be believed.

"Is it not beautiful?"

Vergil looked up and saw a figure suddenly standing on the balcony.

His sharpened teeth grit themselves, and he launched himself, wings agape, charging at this false prophet.

The sounds he made engulfed Sanctus, completely capturing his brain, rendering any logical thought or conclusion impossible.  
He began to hyperventilate, from this unexpected, unimaginable horror, he wanted to run, but the image of this beast charging at him made his chest hurt.

Nauseated, the old man swayed back.

Vergil almost reached him, his savage fury getting oh-so close.

Something stopped him.

He felt pushed back, something rose from the mummified entity, standing in his way.

It was unmistakably Dante.

Vergil faltered, trying to avoid striking the body and causing him any harm. A demonic fist reached out and snatched him out of the air, holding his leg in an electrifying grip.  
His hold over the form ceased, and his body weakened, the familiar grasp draining him of his power. The ascension slipped from his clutch, and lo he returned to his human visage.  
The dark slayer slammed roughly against the wall and felt his back break. A devastating fall from so far above made things even worse.

Ulmarag opened his wings high, blocking Sanctus beside the body of his brother, the two emerged.

"Is it not your wish to become one with your brother once more, boy?" Umarag addressed him. "Dante has been waiting for you, for a long time now.  
Within this, your bodies will combine just as you two were in mother's womb, melting into one, to manifest and awaken their god. . . And then He will return at last.  
He will be free and everything will return as it used to be in this world."

Ulmarag leapt down, hovering a few meters above the stone before slowly touching down.

He held Dante's body by the neck, suspended by invisible puppet strings. He relinquished the hold, placing the body back into it's casket.

Standing on the curving walkway, beside the savior, beside his brother, and with Sanctus watching for sick amusement, Ulmarag pointed to Vergil, taunting him.

"Forever failure, you'll be doomed to an existence of nothingness, while we all reign once more." He said to the regressed hybrid.

From mountain high, a black laughter emerged, Sanctus enjoying this gladiator battle as he had commanded.  
The daemon of nightmares joined in, the two mocking their easily-tricked foe. Do as he were told, then they might let him out of his cage.

Rising calm, the remaining twin locked eyes with his old foe.

"Hush, now." He said, and the laughter suddenly stopped, both dismayed at his calm, "You haven't let me join in on the fun."

He arose with a casual demeanor, and a sarcastic glare.  
'Dante' had gotten up intent on ruining their day, and for a moment he'd succeeded.

"I had an inheritance from my father, it was the moon and the sun. And though I roam all over the world, the spending of it's never done."

At this, the pale rider didn't waste one second, rushing to meet Ulmarag.

He quickly drew Yamato, and the two commenced their clash.

* * *

Thank **you for reading this, I hope you enjoyed it.**

 **Once again I assure you Nero won't appear, he is just mentioned here and how he can sense Vergil presence as his father. :)**

 **Will it's going to take** awhile **until chapter 15, I don't mean 1-2 month wait but I'm going to have** a time **for myself, away from Fanfiction.**

 **..**

 **Gone** Trumpo **, I wasn't offended or anything, I deleted them because will you read it and it's over :) To be** honest **I don't know why I was complicating things for myself there.** Ulmarag **' powers of warped memories** is **used against Vergil/Dante in their first fight. He is the** sand man **, a demon of nightmares for kids more than adults.** Will **I'll consider it, not sure I'll do** it, **since it's too early. :) Thank you for that song, it's beautiful and fits the events from the people's views.**

 **...**

 **Beta Reader Here: Hey everyone, continuing from the previous chapter's precedent of a note from me as well, I just want to add some stuff here.**

 **I'm immensely proud of LxJ for continued improvement in English and Storytelling capabilities, as I had much fewer grammar issues to correct than any previous chapter yet.**  
 **The second thing is, this chapter is not consciously named after a metal song this time, and the reason for that is I couldn't think of a title that really fit.**  
 **Lilian thought about Message In Blood by Pantera, but it really doesn't seem to fit the overall vibe of the chapter, as it's more** a progress **to the plot and** it's **characters.**  
 **That and no one actually leaves a message in blood for anyone, be it symbolically or literally.**

 **So I decided to do what I did on Cronos and make up a name. In this instance, it's related to the dialogue Vergil says at the end of this chapter particularly.**

 **The quicker turnaround is thanks to the fact that this was also made of repurposed 'deleted scenes' if you will from past chapters, enabling a much larger amount of work to be done.**  
 **I listened to Blind Guardian's cover of 'Beyond the Realms of Death,' Ra's 'Do You Call My Name' and Lamb Of God's 'Overlord' when providing my rewrite.**

 **That's my peace, thank you** everyone **!**


	15. Chapter 15 I Disappear

**Bless you Turbo Sexaphonic :)**

 **Did you read my answer to you before?**

* * *

 **Chapter 15 ~ I Disappear**

* * *

In the corner of the gloomy office, Modeus waited, again calling upon the young one to return and tell him what he sought. He drank enough to rival Dante, though both could never get buzzed.  
At the bar he sat for her there, and ran an interested eye through the cozy, gothic space. The furniture, the feel of the whole studio reminded him fondly of Sparda's taste a bit, with some deviations.  
It brought back so many memories, much more than he could say. They were the best of times, they were the worst of times. . . Funny the way things turned out, he never foresaw any of it.  
The Priestess _wasn't supposed to have any offspring._ But, somehow. . . A child appeared to carry on this tragic legacy.

He wondered what Baul would feel if he didn't realize what was to come already. Hopefully, he's wrong, just paranoid.

Laying down the paper, given to him by Lady, he glanced out the stained window. Slowly, the place was getting empty.  
He remembered that time, the way things were. Out from the old day's mists, images rekindled, though their luster faded.

Charlotte's long hair braided, wearing her favorite black satin skirt, with the beaded robe acting as an unconventional top, with fringes.

"I must say, you're one of the most amusing individuals I've ever 'the pleasure to know." He told her, sounding older than his face let on.

"Ahehe, who could've imagined? A demon complimented me." She laughed, just as she would laugh, the most gentle sound.

Unfettered by time, the persona, at it's core, was just the same as those days long gone.

* * *

. . .

He always believed devils weren't the same when it came to human emotions. But he realized, he was absolutely wrong.

He'd just realized it too late.

Charlotte already married someone. He'd give up everything to turn back time, and have another chance. But it's over, he wasn't blessed like Sparda. His darkest secret no one knew about.  
Meeting her descendant awakened certain memories he buried a long time ago. The ideas didn't sit well with him, this was another person entirely, she didn't even have a concept of _her._

Focusing back to the task ahead, he searched his mind for all that he knew of the wolves.

From several witnesses to the herds of animals found dead in mysterious piles, those who survived their encounters described the same thing.

Large two headed beasts.

The unfortunate fact was that the remaining son of Sparda left to Fortuna in the case of a robbery, and the other one had died long ago.

According to Lady, Vergil, the eldest, sought to reactivate Temen-Ni-Gru, raising hell for the sake of an old sword; their Father's true power.  
If only he was there, he could've put a stop to that lunacy, without loss. Still a debt can be payed to the remaining Sparda, he could make things right.

Then came the first bold statement. The Order of The Sword were trying to break the fabric of death, freeing a weight that should not be lifted. All for what?  
To make names for themselves among the living. Such arrogance, the single notion that Sparda could even be brought back. He was long gone, worn away by age unfortunately.  
Even a being as mighty as he couldn't best Father Time, everything stops existing at some point. Sparda was just old, though Modeus wondered what was left of him, after so long.  
Disgusted by the notion, he sat stewing for a time, not wanting to acknowledge what The Order had planned. . . Pious fools. . .

He did ponder on it, though. Perhaps he should visit the city. If not to stop this plot, then at least to see how much time had changed it's hallowed walls.

* * *

. . .

* * *

Lady entered the office at last, "Sorry I'm late."

"It's quite all right." He replied in his usual manner, "What did you figure?"

Lady took a seat next to him. This close proximity made him feel somewhat uncomfortable. He didn't know if he could control himself, should she grow nearer to him.  
Whatever demonic grace he held could be overpowered by a strong enough impulse, it took all that he had to maintain this tranquility, to not be like his brother. . .

What was the name? The signature was rather difficult to read.

Lady spoke impatient: "Well nothing really makes sense. I found this message from someone named 'Saint Dicks. . .' Or something like that."

Modeus put his fingers to his head, and sighed in exasperation at her immaturity.

"Haah. . . Do you mean _Sanctus_?" He asked flatly.

"How do you know that?" She asked him.

"There are somethings I know inherently, Fortuna speaks to me. He's someone important, I know this for certain. He's been there for a long time."

The man felt uncomfortable, as his subtle relation with the city left him feeling like one of those old coots whom were too invested or afraid that they would fail to act, despite being charged with this duty.  
He couldn't tolerate this dynamic, feeling it picked on his every moral. How was he, someone indebted to Sparda, unable to stop Vergil from his path? He'd failed in his duties.  
Perhaps that's what this was. It was some sort of elaborate punishment against him, resolving to destroy his every thread of sanity in return for the failure to save Sparda's children; his legacy.  
This was consequence's nature, picking away at the host with guilt till they went insane from the pain they surely were familiar with.

He knew he was headed for the bottom at this rate, the bleeding on his soul making his stomach knot.

It's not like he missed it on purpose, he was growing old. People his age needed rest to remain, lest he fade to black.

"You're not wrong," She commented, "I didn't get much on the Order, but this Saint Dicks is most definitely the guy in charge."

" _Sanctus._ So, do you think this Order is behind the appearance of the wolves?"

"I honestly don't know, but. . . Yeah, probably. Dante only went there to get back what was stolen, unless. . ."

She let her mind run back over the people downtown. She had been there and most people knew her, or knew of her.

There had been that nice middle-aged woman - Mrs. Johnson. She told her about the men of the order she saw, wandering around. White hoods and brown cloaks; creepy cult stuff for sure.  
They were skulking around, wearing metal masks that looked like they belonged on old knights from fairy tails. Then there was Dr. Holbrook. He was a local medicine man, had a small practice off Hovley.  
He said he'd seen them acting shifty, spelunking about harassing other people who got in their way; unfriendly guys. After a while, just before they disappeared, he saw them carrying a big duffle bag.  
It was human-sized, in fact it was large enough to house a sizable animal, almost a lion or tiger. This was backed up by Mr. McMahon, a retiree who said he saw them carrying a dirt-covered body-bag.  
So it was definitely down to a crooked science, these guys were incompetent at not being seen. Thankfully, she was able to discern their theft with ease, though the connections to a body were. . .

Unnerving. If they'd stolen from Dante. . . What had they taken?

Did he have some _thing_ buried in his backyard? Or was it just a huge collection of his weapons, maybe some familial artifacts or something?

She had no way to know, but the entire city certainly noticed it's strange intruders.

And, a day after all that, she heard howling rumors spread about werewolves.

Many locals had retreated to their homes earlier than usual on this particular street, the recent spooks making parents nervous. It was like Grimm folk tale, wolves attacking children wandering after dark.  
This was strange too, demons typically lie low, surely those who followed Sparda would be smart enough to be subtle, inconspicuous. Things were ramping up, and far sooner than she wanted.

Both sat in Dante's abode, drinking coffee of different styles. Hers was a cappuccino, his was a sweetened cup of good ol' fashioned brew.

They hadn't spoken aloud for a few minutes now, the memory of Sparda and his offspring affecting their sociability even more.

"I think we should meet up with Dante." Modeus broke the silence, "Perhaps we would find the answer with him. If he's already in Fortuna, it would serve our time well for this mystery."

"Good thinking, lets leave today. I'm sure he's fine, but we need to get there as fast as we can if we want answers." She replied and took a breath.

Things were moving fast, at least. Time often stood still in moments like this, making it a great place to contemplate dark thoughts.  
It was time to leave, time to hit the road for that grand old reason; answers. There was always something they never knew the answer to, whether it be her and Dante, or this new friend.  
Truth be told, she enjoyed the newcomer, his aura was calming even though she didn't trust him as far as she could throw a truck. Her serious demeanor betrayed her growing friendliness.  
It was late in the day now, the sun was still there, blistering down despite it being winter. Making sure they both knew how they would get to Fortuna, she prepped her things.

Every gun she could think of, she packed away on some part of her body, using blessed ammunition.

Though incomparable to Dante's own firearms, the use of Holy Water-soaked bullets would be useful in combating fiends from the dark.

Lady walked out the front door, ready to depart for the city. It was dark out, they'd spent all night gathering more intelligence.

Modeus would seek a different route, claiming he had other business to take care of, whatever that may be. She would be going by boat, the town located somewhat off the beaten path.  
Her motorcycle was parked by the edge of the sidewalk, out in front of the change meter she never used. The wide square where they'd fought her father. . . Still brought black feelings to her chest.  
She'd done up her green jacket over a white blouse, with brown gloves over her strong hands. Her black short-shorts went well with this color scheme, decked out with ammo packs and other tools.  
Her hazel biker boots clicked against the sidewalk, and the amazonian slung her huge cannon over her back, lugging her other bags towards the vehicle.

It was a sizable cycle, big enough for a person like herself certainly, even allowing room for all her equipment to be strapped in.

When she reached her bike, a silhouette nearby stopped her.

The figure was small, minuscule by comparison to the towering blades of power that made up this city's skyline. She looked foreign, not really belonging in a bleak world like this.

Was it real? The figure looked almost creepy, standing there in shadow, watching her intently. She tensed slightly, unsure to trust the stranger.

"Excuse me! Lady?" A child spoke to her, and a blonde stepped from the dark, her braided hair hidden by a brown cap

They'd only really been together briefly, but Lady remembered her. She was that girl in Dante's care, taken some other place the day they'd fallen out, that much she could tell.  
What was her name. . . Paris? Penny? Patty, that's right! Patty. Well, good to know Dante had done a good job taking care of her, or else she would've marched on the slayer's neck for that one.  
What was she doing here? The sight of something so innocent seemed out of place.

"Patty, right?" Lady's face softened, her trepidation evaporated. She wondered why the kid would seek her now.

"How do you know?" The girl cocked her head to the side, raising her left eyebrow, "Am I a celebrity or something?"

Lady smiled at her, "Uh-Hum, You uh-. . . Am I that forgettable? We've already met. I came by when you couldn't get Dante to wake up, remember?"

Patty's face brightened with surprise, and the fringe fell back into place over those eyes, sparking the memory to light.

"Oh! Yes! Yeah, wow. . . I'm sorry I didn't recognize you!" She nervously corrected herself, embarrassed.

Her cheeks lit up like a christmas tree, and Lady couldn't help but smile. The little thing was so cute, it was hard to believe being around her hadn't changed Dante in some way.

"It's okay, what's up? Are you looking for Dante?" She asked, intent to followup with the lowdown.

Patty's face abruptly shifted to sadness.

"Do you know where he is? Please, can you tell me? I've been trying to reach him for days now, but he just seems to have disappeared." Patty said, trying her hardest to stand tall and be tough.

But her young voice failed her.

Lady sighed and came to her, placing a motherly hand atop her head, "I'm sorry, he left for a job. I don't think he's coming back today."

The girl's eyes lit up, the most lovable optimism shining through those baby-blues.

"Can you take me to him!? I promise I won't be in the way, I just want another chance to see him."

Lady was taken aback, the small child irrefutably sincere, and impossible to let down without feeling horrible afterwards.

"I-ah-. . . I-I can't, the place where I'm heading is dangerous." She said, trying to let the girl down easy, "I think it'd be a bad idea."

"Oh come on, please? I'll follow your orders I promise!" The girl struck a comical army pose, hand up to salute, "I'll stay out of trouble, ma'am."

Patty had to meet him again, too self-conscious to say the reason out loud to the older woman.

 _. . ._

 _His eyes showed the kind of gentle concern no one had ever shown her before._

 _He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, and, instead of flinching as he had the first time she met him, she felt soothed by it._

 _He left his hand there and spoke, "You can still visit me in the shop, anytime ya want." He spoke, she felt his words reassuring, just by the way he said them.  
Those blue eyes carried frost to anyone else, but not for her. She only ever received kindness from him, and now it was time to say goodbye to that._

 _Fear was her superpower. . ._

 _. . ._

Lady stared down at the kid, wanting to walk away like nothing happened. But she couldn't say no, that little girl's face desperate with that kind of purity only someone untouched by darkness could yield.  
It's hard to reject that. Looking down at the girl, she made a hard decision, but it was a decision nonetheless. She didn't know how someone hadn't told the little girl of Dante's leaving, Morrison should've.  
She'd need to have a stern talking-to with the handler, his communication lacking in these difficult times.

"Okay. . . Hop on. You can't come with me when we get into the citadel, but you can go as far as when we reach the city. You'll stay in a safe house, deal?"

"Deal!" Patty exclaimed with a chirpy smile, and she jumped on the motorcycle.

The damn thing nearly fell over, the little girl inexperienced with the vehicle despite finding it most awesome.  
Lady grinned to herself, unable to stifle a laugh as Patty struggled to maintain balance. She grabbed hold of the steering and easily straightened it, holding the girl upright.  
Sitting behind the child, she placed her helmet on the young orphan, then revved up the engines. And they were good to go.

* * *

In the middle of the ride, Lady decided to ask.

"Why do ya wanna see Dante? Are you having some trouble?"

Patty didn't answer at first, and it seemed like the helmet was running interference, an eternity of silence went by.

The little girl opened the black glass-plate, and replied.

"I miss him. I wanted to take a walk with him at sunset, visit the park at night, and then go get ice-cream in the morning."

Lady smiled at the fact that the kid loves Dante. He could still be sweet if he wanted to be. That was something at least.

Maybe he wasn't so different now after all.

* * *

Far above the wintry air, the sky birthed black clouds as it had done since December came. The harbor was as grey as a newspaper clipping.  
The sea surrendered her sapphire, the stones showed no russet colors, and the boats had taken on the monochrome look of old black-and-white movies. Even the air tasted more dull, if it was possible.  
The wind whipped salt into their eyelashes and onto exposed skin, all the while the trams ran along the beachside with a clatter and whir. They were near their destination alright.  
An old, coastal fishing town, with beautiful sights and classic architecture. It was a forerunner to Fortuna's supposed old-world charm.

There was an old man watching them.

"Hey Morgan, sorry I'm late." Lady spoke.

The map of wrinkles on his face told of the most incredible journey. His eye-lines told of laughter, of warm smiles and affection. His forehead told of worries-past and worries-present.  
But mostly, they were so deeply engrained, that they told of a man who had travelled through eight decades to that moment; just to stand here. As an old man, beaten and forlorn.  
To be dismissed as 'old' when he was so much more than the sum of his parts was a crime against humanity.

"No problem, I'm glad to sail anytime, anywhere."

He was kindly, inviting them in a certain warmth only a grandfather could have.

The two girls jumped over the railing, to the deck of the small vessel, and waited for him to prepare the ship for take off.  
The ocean before them laid a short path, Fortuna wasn't very far from mainland, to the point it was just considered as part of the land itself. There were a few bridges connecting it, but they were down.  
Bad weather had ruined them, making access by land improbable. So, the next best thing was a boat ride. There was a certain allure to this old craft, the fresh spray of the water filling them with ease.

"Well, settle in, it may take an hour or two to get past all these sand islands. The port's on the other side facing the ocean-proper." Sad but true, this inconvenience.

Still, they didn't mind it so much.

"Do you have stories to tell, then?" Patty asked.

Morgan finished prepping the sail rig, and went for the bow.

"As a matter of fact, little lady, how about I tell you of an adventure I had four years ago? That should kill time for us to get there, the sun'll rise just as we reach her shores."

He was like an old pirate. Well, cleaner and far better-mannered than any historical ones, so maybe that's not the best analogy.

An old navy-man, yes that suits him better.

The girl agreed to his offer, sitting wide-eyed, while Lady crossed her legs and gazed out to the swirling views. Wind rustled her hair, and she closed her eyes.

"I'm listening. . ." Replied the young Lowell.

An hour went by, and Patty began to fall asleep on the wide chair inside, opposite of the bow. The old man had finished his story, entertaining them with his kid-friendly humor and experienced pacing.

The boat rolled left and right, like a leaf on a windy day. Torrents of rain came down with enough force to sting flesh, thankfully Morgan had worn his raincoat.  
Substandard weather just made it all the more difficult to see and assess their quarry. The rumbling thunder, and flashing lightning certainly didn't help Lady's nerves much.  
'Just made her all the more uneasy. Deep down, she could feel that something was incredibly amiss. Where they were heading towards felt twisted, and she didn't like that.

She didn't like it one, single bit.

The mercenary sat behind the captain, with her pistol in her left hand.

Lady just sat, staring blankly at it.

She pressed the trigger several times, knowing full well the safety was on. The gun resisted her of course, yet she kept on pressing. It relaxed her in a weird way, like one of those wood-grip stress toys.

Early morning hour, and the boat docked at Fortuna's harbor, lonely just like a cloud. A trapdoor of depressive stain of mind, the entire marina was barren.

Patty looked through the window, a bit surprised.

"Uh, are islands supposed to look weird like this?" She wondered loudly.

"I don't know what to say lass. First time I've seen an empty harbor as abandoned as this." Morgan commented.

Lady stood outside, observing the deserted place. Indeed, there was a bizarre aura dominating it. No one was here, the entire market looked halfway closed, and halfway still open.  
Something had driven these people away, made them flee in a hurry. What could it have been? Probably something demonic. This wasn't a good start.

Something vibrated around her neck.

Tugging, she ripped it off and looked. Charlotte's necklace was shining, glowing white for some reason.

"Patty?" She called to her, the little girl stuck her head out of the captain's quarters.

"Yes?"

"Stay here with Morgan, I'll bring Dante when I can find him."

"Okay." She shouted back playfully.

Even though deep down she wanted to find Dante herself, she would respect Lady's concerns.

Still, it's no fun at all waiting anxiously here.

In the half-light of dawn, the street was eerie. It wasn't just that it was a still day; the air simply didn't move. The leafy avenue was bereft of noise, as if every murmur and rustle was stolen away.  
The sky was empty, not just of birds, but of clouds also. There was no weather at all here; even the sunlight felt cold. Where had the life gone? The city's vitality seemed just outright sapped.  
Lady was about to continue onward, when from the distance came a series of tinny clangs. It was like the sound of an old can bouncing down the road after a wedding car, but without the engine rumbling.  
Or the hiss of tires on wet asphalt. It grew louder, then softer, then louder again. At first it appeared to come from in front of her, then from behind.

In only brief moments, the noise came from every direction, getting closer, growing louder, more frantic. . .

The four horsemen came, and sat astride their black steeds, amidst the street in blackened armor. Blood stained their Nightmare's flamed hooves, and echoes of screams followed their every step.  
It was the closest thing such demons can come to happiness. With steel, onyx and spiked, they carried news of their deeds on smiling skulls of death, glowing a ghoulish green from their fiery eyes.  
There was a whole city to kill and nothing to stop them.

War.

To her surprise, the sound she heard before was a number of bodies dragged along the bricks behind them, tied to their otherworldly horses.

What the hell happened here?

Before she could defend herself, a sound rattled the place, shaking the very ground as much as the buildings.

"Veni fructum Durga." She heard a familiar tone.

A black fog engulfed the ground, and in the middle of it arose yet another daemon, whom looked like a human visage wise, but it's skin was dark pink, and it's other features orcish.  
Four horns emerged from it's face, two of them pointing downward from the sides of it's pointed chin, and the others stuck right up, looking much more elongated. They curved back, like true devil horns.  
It seemed he had no eyes, a metal guard screwed in over both it's peepers, much like the shop doors to the sides. It's mouth was a perennially smiling suite of fangs, crooked and sharp.

The new creature screeched a sound horrid enough to make her cover her ears out of pain.

"Walk away, young one." She heard the familiar voice of Modeus call out to her.

She didn't need to here it twice and she took off running down an alley, deeper into the 'holy' city.

The Horsemen blistered the earth, terminating as one. They launched after the Lady, Modeus himself taking demonic form as an armor, one-headed Wolf himself.

They rode across the city roofs, opposition of her escape coming as an agitated mutilation of physics. True death of life surrounded her, bodies hung by their necks in the streets.

She ran as fast she could, her athletic build making her surprisingly fast by comparison to her grim friends. Bursting through alley after alley, the city's Venice-type layout made her cranky.  
Smoldering decay took her breath away, the stench of murder nevermore, the four continuing their dance of the dead, whipping across the broken bricks across the town.  
Winter they sent after her, the frigid chill returning, never mending itself back to the lifeless feel of the harbor. The chase continued, killing what might have been as they went.

Fire, then a blackened burst of psychic fury destroyed an archway above her, sealing off the path behind as Modeus swooped down to face off against the four devils.

All was said and done, no love lost as their battle commenced, the female mercenary continuing her pace off into the distance.

She couldn't be careful, the horsemen may come for her still, throwing her name into obscurity when they would catch her.

She rooted for her devilish friend, the trustworthy Modeus making his stand against the wailing danse macabre behind.

A new area of the city, this time a town square, though there were many like it already. She darted through, taking little time to decide her direction.  
From the gloomy darkness lurked random demons, lesser than those she'd evaded before. Lady could take care of these ones herself but she had to keep herself moving too.

Like a light-footed deer, Lady grasped her bazooka, then launched it's blade like a pole-arm, stabbing Kalina Ann into the face of a wandering scarecrow. It stumbled a few feet away, turning to ash.  
She wouldn't give it the satisfaction of seeing her. Then, she took out her Uzi. One of her favorites, she held Kalina back to her side as she sprinted forward into infested walkways.  
Bullets flew out the chamber and across the air elegantly, the shell aimed for the target beyond. As it pushed itself on, with great speed, it gained in proximity, rocketing close by to it's victim.  
Hanging for a moment as the adrenaline catalyzed, it struck all her obstacles, and all of her struggle prevailed.

When the being of sin and disgrace trifled with her progress, they'd receive a shot in the head, courtesy of Lady.

All the scarecrows torn to shreds, the ghasts blown to smithereens, and the reapers sown shut. For a human, she wreaked more havoc than any demon ever could.

Further and further she pushed her way through, all this attention stripping her of inhibition.

Once silence governed, Lady finally took a moment to breath and relax. And then, something struck so loud, the noise was countless magnitudes louder than any piddly thunder.  
The roar was at an intensity she'd never experienced before. The buildings around her were shaken like a doll houses. Glass shattered. She could here the sound of people panicking inside their houses.  
So, there were _some_ people still alive. . . Admittedly not a pressing issue at the moment, but still.

And just like that, it stopped with a rolling clap.

"What the-!?" She shouted. Sparda's statue stood before her. Right behind the building she could see a dark cloud, a sinister smoke of some kind, rising.

It seems to be coming from within the forest and a mountain nearby.

Lady traversed all the paths, trying to reach the black smoke tainting the sky. Her road led her to a snowy place. . . It seemed closer to the smoke.

She took a moment, absorbing the environment. It wouldn't be any use to just run down the first path she saw. Walking across the snow-covered, stone platform, the rock began to shift.  
A watchtower to her left trembled, slowly collapsing, striking the base of the platform she stood upon. It overlooked a view of the ocean and the mountainside, now obscured by pressuring stone.

Lady ducked under debris as the monument splintered.

The platform began to slide down the mountain, racing down the cliff with her scrambling amongst the wreckage.

Holding steadfast, she clung to the flat surface as much as possible, the speed growing more and more as the fall continued to grow and grow.  
Towards the bottom of the slope, a host of pillars blocked her way, the gold and concrete ground beyond them leading to the under-carriage of a bridge that led further out to sea.  
Time for a leap of faith.

Stepping to her feet, she managed to stand on the diagonal platform, using the knifed edge of her missile-launcher to gain footing as she manned a jump.

Timing was key.

Just as the runaway ground collided with the columns, she flung herself forward, using Kalina Ann's positioning as a slingshot for herself against the kinetic raceway.  
Turning, she fired off one round from the weapon, and the explosion shot her higher, blasting her much farther than the edge of the small, circular stage. Airborne, she took to the next closest thing.  
The Gran Album Bridge. She managed to just barely clear the edge, landing on her feet, and stumbling forward into one of the supports. It broke her momentum hard, she barely survived somehow.  
Pain radiated out to her knees, and she barely kept her balance. Stumbling back after the collision, she felt her arms ache from having guarded against the stone construct.

Behind her, the ruined platform slid off into the ocean, crashing into the Adam's ale with a deafening noise, unleashing a massive wave that enveloped the whole walkway.

The winter turned the seas frigid, in a mass of ice water, she froze on the spot.

She yelped, grabbing her elbows to try and keep warm as it rocked her back into the stone pillar.

"Gah!"

She was left soaked, her mascara running, and absolutely chilled to the bone.

"S-So much for. . . A v-vacation." She managed to quip through tremors.

* * *

 **. . . With evil unbound, they make their stand against one another, the dark slayer exhausted but valiant**

* * *

Sanctus launched a stream of lightning from his hands, intent to electrify Vergil. It struck the ground, spreading across it like an ocean.

Vergil leaped off just in time.  
He twisted backward mid-air. Yamato sparked purple as the katana sliced the shield around the old man once again shattering it almost. He landed at the old man's podium, intent to talk back. He yelled bestial, the strikes feeling brutish.  
Each time, Sanctus pulled back, closing the shield up again as the man broke through it, but never managed to reach him. Behind the profit landed Ulmarag, taunting.

Dropping to the ground, Vergil put the blade back in its home: "Get out of my way," he snarled.

Releasing it forth, he sent out a judgment cut.

The shield around the old man shattered and dissolved, and the old man began to fall to the ground in a complete shock.

Pushing off his feet, Vergil bolted forward in a blur and caught the bastard with a gauntleted fist. Time for Ifrit to play.

"Beg for help from your false god," He growled as they landed down in the floor, "Because you're gonna need it!"

Vergil flipped backward, and pile-drove him into the ground headfirst, with all of his bitter strength. The old man's body cracked on collision, leaving him dazed and confused.  
Inhumanly keeling back up to his feet, the slayer brought him up by his robe and sent a punch to the old man's gut. A shockwave and saliva burst out, Sanctus grunting like an old and decaying motor.  
It was followed by another, the shockwave bigger this time. He began to strike him again and again, assaulting him with blows from both fists. The rage poured out from his eyes.  
Dealing bone-breaker after bone-breaker, he inflicted a slew of fire-laced punches that fragmenting about every bone in Sanctus's ribs, releasing every torment he was made to endure as retribution.  
The machine gun of blows kept going till Vergil thought the old man had had enough, it was time to 'release' him from this suffering.

The savage beating stopped for a moment, Sanctus robes covered in blood, and the old man believing mercy befell him.

"You shall _die_." Vergil scorned his optimism, and gave him one last welt that shattered glass, pushing back an encroaching Ulmarag with the unmitigated winds of hatred.

Sanctus shot back off his feet, careening off the balcony and down far below into the bottom of the hall surrounding the savior.

He exhaled hoarsely as he stared down Ulmarag, watching him slowly approach, nodding his smug face in approval of Vergil's malice.

"No doubt about it. You're ready for the awakening, aren't you, boy?"

"You've crossed me for the last time," Vergil replied.

"Cliched words for a historic occasion. I'll miss your simplicity." The demon admitted to him, smoothly baritone as always.

"I want to know. . . Has someone like yourself ever felt fear?" Vergil suddenly changed the subject.

"I deal in terror, boy, I do not receive it."

"Ahehehe. . ." 'Dante' began laughing, a psychotic look gloaming from his eyes, "I have such experiences to show you!"

He raged forward, furiously pounding his fists at the Sandman, their powers colliding in a crimson ball of fire. Ulmarag threw a coiled swipe, knocking Vergil's legs to his side.  
Mid-descent, the slayer punched the ground, righting himself with sheer momentum, and flew above an intended knee to his ribs, the attack jutting past him.  
Disappearing in a blur of black lines, he re-emerged in the same spot standing straight, with a heel to Ulmarag's temple, breaking open the skin. It knocked the dream-master to his right a few feet.  
He staggered forth as another punch met his ripped stomach, a burst of flames scorching his scar tissue. Grabbing hold of Vergil's forearm, the creature flung him around.  
It threw him to the ground in a slam, and then stomped down on his side.

His insides roiled, flushing through him searing spleen.

Vergil took the kick in stride, followed by another. He heard a crack and realized one of his ribs had snapped in half. No matter, he was far above this pain.

Responding, he shoved the tail-end of his cleated-boot into the demon's groin, forcing him to let go.

It screamed at him, his fury from a low blow translating into a haymaker, though it was matched with a block as the acidic fellow darted to his feet.  
Vergil unleashed a wave of flame with a baited swing, the hellfire burning Ulmarag's marked flesh darker shades.

Out from the inferno came the demon's silver-clawed hands, the metallic armor lining only his fingers belying the coils wrapped around his bloody knuckles.

The armored hand grabbed the man's face and dragged him forward. The beast let out a masculine roar into Vergil's ears as it cuffed the side of his head with it's other fist.  
He stumbled back sanguinary. He couldn't break everything that reminded him of the past, he couldn't know to stop following this ideal.  
The demon delivered a shockingly-fast brevity of strikes that caught the man off-guard, mirroring his assault on Sanctus slightly as it delivered an uppercut that sent the slayer flying.

The fight went airborne as the Demon spread his wings and soared after him, catching the boy, once so young, back in it's own element now.

With the pinions of a Raven, it launched feather's like daggers, pursuing the man's body with impaled furor. Claws struck like talons crushing heads, and it bulldozed him further up.

He felt it dig it's steely claws into his back, entrapping him in a back-breaking hold, and the Slayer reacted vehemently.

Grasping the demon's right shoulder with his left fist, he seared it's brawn without a thought.

It shrieked as he broke his right arm free from it's bearhug, and smashed Ulmarag's face with the cestus, bashing the metal wildly against the horned-savage's mug.  
The monster would not release, instead digging it's claws deeper still. Finally clasping it's face with his right hand, he charged and released a catastrophic burn.  
Charring the monster with a brilliant solar pulse, the two separated at last. Blood trails spewed from his back as he ricocheted away, the nails having been torn out by force.  
They scraped out his back and left him reeling as both sides felt raw to the touch. A warm fluid covered his back, the blood blending easily with his jacket as it trickled out his back.  
But the beast wouldn't let him be, roaring back in a furious onslaught. It played pinball with him, refusing to let the burns stifle it any longer.

This feud would end right here and now.

It knocked him around, blasting him higher and higher, bouncing him off walls and brutalizing his face with metal impact after metal impact.

The strikes left his looks broken, unrecognizable for the time being, and it countered all his hazy recoveries with more fierceness. The slayer tasted iron as the monster knocked him clear across the stage.

He recoiled, flipping abruptly with a small second wind, and his feet touched down against the Savior's leg. It easily stopped his momentum, and gave him enough opportunity to launch back sideways.  
The slayer plunged his fist vertical, up from his perspective, and tried for a comeback as his old foe raced forward. Their knuckles collided in a blazing purity that shook the halls of this old monastery.  
Instantly, the demon surged past him, moving to his back just above, and grabbed the back of the devil hunter's head.

In one, fluid movement, he shoved the man down to the bricks below, his face ultimately crashing into the floor.

A massive wave of dust covered the ground, kicking up from the clamor as the demon pinned Vergil's healing countenance to the ground, putting all the pressure on his forehead as he gripped his left arm.  
He wrenched the boy's limb back, a crunch echoing as he screamed into the ground. When empowered, Ulmarag was vicious, he wanted to make this wretched child pay for their last bout, thoroughly.

He sat there, grinding the man's face into stainless stone, now marred by ichor from their vicious brawl.

He couldn't help but taunt the young man.

"Hahaha! I'm _so_ afraid of you, son of Sparda. All you are made of is idle threats."

Vergil grunted in pain, his sound muffled by the floor.

"What's that? I can't hear you." He said, and the boy grunted in pain again, blood shooting from his arm.

"Still not getting it." He kept on with it.

Finally, Vergil yelled back.

"I'll make you pay for this!" He screamed out from under the demon's hold.

"Oh dear. . . Your over-developed sense of vengeance is only outdone by your pride. Don't feel bad, your brother had it too, as did your father and his whore." He laughed at this.

The demon was knelt down on one knee, and enjoying the boy's continued suffering.

"Still, I suppose I wished you'd had more than this. Those tacky gauntlets couldn't hope to melt a marshmallow."

The dark slayer tried to reply, but it was too muffled by the ground.

"Don't worry, now or later, it doesn't matter because _it ends the same_. You'll be rejoined with your brother in death, if not willingly, and Sparda will come again, whatever remains of him."

He was preparing the end. . .  
"I'll miss those anguished cries of yours, _Vergil_." It growled into his ears.

"Vergil!?" He heard a woman shout.

Ulmarag looked up bewildered, the voice attached to a new playmate.

Right beside them some twenty-odd feet stood Lady, watching.

"What the hell- No. No! This is- _No!_ " Lady's voice cracked, sounding more desperate and pained than Vergil's muffled howls, " _What the fuck is going on here!?_ Who are you!?"

She screeched it to the heavens, red hot choler staining her cheeks.

Ulmarag soon understood, and he seemed to react with utter delight.

"Oh-ho! She didn't know! What a complete, and utter monster you are." He sneered in the boy's ear.

Appearing beside her in a dash, Sparda's old pupil arrived, dismayed.

"We're too late!" Modeus yelled, "It's back!"

Ulmarag never broke from his work, considering them a nuisance more than a threat. So, instead, he just looked at them both and sighed, "Ah Modeus, it's been a long time."

Modeus pursed his lips slightly.

"Not long enough. I wish I could face you right now."

"What's to stop you, old man? Lack of spine, hmm?" The Sandman mocked. Modeus grit his teeth, his eyes becoming filled with an uncharacteristic rage, yet trepidation held him back.

Lady stepped forward, her distressed face scowling at Vergil.

He'd managed to force his head sideways, staring out by contorting his neck so that his cheek rested on the floor instead.

"You _are_ Vergil aren't you!? You callous bastard!" She screamed at him, this betrayal beyond anything before it.

Vergil heaved out a blood clot.

He sat there writhing beneath the indomitable master, "Gah, what are you doing here!? This is my fight, alone!"

" _Answer me!_ Who are you!?" Lady screamed again.

Ulmarag mentally dragged Dante's body out from it's coffin, using just enough focus for her to see, "This is Dante, child."

He was something of a necromancer, able to puppet the dead with ease.

Returning the body to it's resting place, the beast gleefully smirked as he stared at her.

"How does this feel? You never knew your friend died, and this mongrel sat there pretending to be him. I think that's the most awful thing I've ever heard."

Lady began hyperventilating, her world crumbling around her. She backed away, her breaths swelling till she could no longer take them in.  
Her mind unable to comprehend the sight and the words she just heard, it all created hatred that churned inside her brain. Darkening in vain, this masquerade revealed as a horrible sham.  
Vergil; that freak who destroyed an entire city for a sword, was masquerading as the man she'd become attached to. The revelation haunted her every memory, tainting them black.  
It all made sense, at the consequence of a small portion of sanity. Grief set in, making her hopeless as she tried to run from the truth.

Once again, a horrifying screech broke through the hall, followed by a tremor of the earth.

Vergil felt a colossal expanse of darkness as the creature behind them awakened and stood forward to close the gap. It hadn't even noticed them, thinking them insignificant bugs.  
It took into itself Dante's body, absorbing his demonic powers after death, and in turn, forming a link to Sparda. The entity hollered to no one in particular, then ascended on a golden buddhist halo.  
The being flew above, destroying the roof with it.

Ulmarag began to laugh, the Savior awakened, and his own ends served. He felt a sudden surge beneath him.

Slowly, Vergil's finger's closed, his knuckles cracking as his eyes began to run crimson. This was it. This was the last straw that broke his back.  
The Order had stolen his brother, mocked his grief, and salted his wounds with pride. Now was the time that he would no longer bear their bullshit.

His breath quickened, his wounds healed.

An ebony spiral of power emerged, and slowly, his head rose, pushing back against Ulmarag's palm. The demon was shocked, and he tried to shove him back down, succeeding for only a moment.  
Vergil rose, his left arm pulling itself back together in his captor's grip. His movements were unbound, flowing freely darkness clear, his Majin prowess burning it's way back to the surface somehow.  
An unearthly growl emanated from his clenched teeth, his face growing animalistic as the veins thickened on his forehead. The aura around him exploded, his arm now fully returned to normal.  
He moved it forward, Ulmarag still clutching the Cambion's forearm, the power bursting out and scorching it's hands.

Ifrit vanished in a bright flash, Vergil's height increasing as his transformation began to take hold. His face grew indescribable, warping into the most inhuman visage of rage ever beheld under the sun.

Finally, with an ear-splitting roar, he filled the skies with a scarlet pillar of light.

Modeus moved himself, covering Lady's ears and taking her from this madness.

Ulmarag's arms broken apart into ions, and his body crashed through countless walls, flying out to sea from the totality of Vergil's explosion. His barbaric bellow raged on, form now faded to black.

Four wings emerged, their bat-like squalor raising him far above this idiotic convention of worship.

. . .

"You're not going anywhere. . . I'll get you for this, I'll make you _suffer_. . . I'LL GET YOU!" His volume was unmatched as he came after the Savior, tearing through the atmosphere.

Glancing back at him, the being summoned angel-knights, sending them flying after it's black destroyer as it returned it's attention to Fortuna.  
Though they seemed menacing to others, Vergil unleashed a crimson meteor of raw energy, easily ripping through the Savior's artillery. It turned to meet the blast, and met with it's fist.  
A supersonic explosion, and the city was in terror. The Savior stood unharmed, mostly. . . It observed scuff marks on it's knuckles. It's stone face turned to rage as it zeroed in on the slayer.  
The creature drew a meaty blade from it's back to clash with Vergil. He met it with the crimson lances.

A burst of power emerged, ripping apart oxygen as flames cosmically appeared, the sky cracking open with each clash.

They fed off each other, skidding along the firmament. The strength of both were beyond life, but even the Savior was a little too much for him.

He followed up with a four-strike combination, ending in a ruby-hued dimension slash. The Sparda-like creature batted the first four swipes away with a twist of his sword and a rough swipe with it's leg.  
The monolithic attack missed the dark slayer by an inch, but out of nowhere, it counterattacked with a familiar three swing combo.

Dante's style.

He parried the incoming blows, then slashed back, only to strike the blade's edge, it's followup being a guard with the weapon.  
Breaking the clash between Devil's, it let out a massive rush forward, pushing it's opponent far off with one shove, then followed with a ball of energy, clasping both it's hand's together to form a dark void.  
Vergil closed his wings and blocked the barrage. It felt like a planet colliding into his soul. Still, his rage carried him further, dominating all other feelings.

The creature fired again, and again, and again, and again. The sword it used hovered to one side, telepathically linked to it.

Serious explosions came his way, but the slayer bore it all, redirecting the damage to the Order's own buildings all around them. Building's fell, other's broke apart.

Vergil focused on trying to think of a plan, some permanent means to bring it down, at least for a little bit.

The large demon pulled a number of gladius from un-reality, and casually hurtled them forward with a mere thought.

Vergil looked like a smurf to it, striking downwards.  
It was confident that it could match his speed, content to destroy the man with ease.

But in a blur, he evaded the blades coming his way, and just like that, a plume of fire exploded into the blackness surrounding the creature, the flame rolling outwards like the cloud of a warhead.  
It was an inferno, fueled by Sparda's buried strength. The heat was oppressive, even from two hundred yards away. The onlookers thought they were safe, in the distance watching.  
But then, a subtle shift in the wind's direction brought noxious smoke and ash raining down. With hands and clothing clamped to their mouths, they fled the sulfur, seeking a safe haven.

It was chaos as they all tried to leave at once for the harbor, struggling to see through the suffocating fog that coated the street.

Echidna was not exaggerating when she said it would awaken the end of the city, or potentially everything. The creature wasn't just focusing on Fortuna, it had been trying to leave the island altogether.  
False-Sparda launched volley after volley of destructive matter. The air was full of electrically-charged particles, crackling between broken bits of rocks and buildings.  
With a yellow orb of lightning, it blast the devil back, far away from it's orbit as the slayer zipped across the island, almost to the entire other side. Building's floated, the Savior's discharge at fault.  
Vergil saw a path, straight to the massive creature, and saw his wings had been charred off by that last blast. Taking the long way was the only option. He worked his way up, jumping from house to house.  
He hacked his way through wolves, the Savior willing them to appear and serve. A few scarlet slashes was all it took. He closed the distance with each leap, his wings steadily regenerating.

Finally, he reached a floating piece of rubble that was massive, having broken off from a great church in the town's acropolis. A perfect platform.

Arriving here, he cut down numerous creatures it summoned to try and stop him, his might powering through these too. In a massive jump, he launched himself at the creature, intent to destroy.  
Just as he did so, it launched it's massive sword at him, just like it had all the other weapons. Unexpectedly, he flipped his inertia, rolling over sideways like a barrel as the blade passed him by.  
An artful dodge, fueled by unadulterated ire.

There was only one place he wanted to crush, Sparda's center. If he could just cut the abdomen and enter, he could drag Dante out and it would lose it's stolen power.

It didn't know what to do, stifled by his evasion. Reacting belatedly, it tried to bring it's palm down, the goal being to swat him down like a fly.

He suspended his vault, his wings grown back fully, and just narrowly missed it's draining countermeasure. Powering around, he put his aura-blade right through the crystal on it's chest.  
The being jolted back up, grasping it's chest in pain as he bolted rearward with only one flap of his wings, then released a series of judgment cut slashes, cutting deep through it's stone form.  
He brought all his might towards a return punch to it's center crystal, intent to break the orb wide open after having cracked it.

It unleashed a backhand, swinging it's massive arm at him.

The slayer was only able to strike the back of it's wrist, where he shattered it's own opal crystal on contact. Though he was forced back, the false-Sparda had critically wounded itself in the process.

A tactical error it would soon regret. The two floated, engaged in a standstill.

For a moment Vergil was debating his next move. So too was his enemy.

It was like a Mexican standoff, the duo of rage-filled beings diametrical opposites.

Sparda dropped its arms and leaned forward. The golden, incomplete halo ring attached to it's back began to gather massive power at the tip of the two spires, where the circle nearly met.  
The swirl of chi sucked up all the ambient spiritual heat they'd released so far, balling together into a massive orb or ions that began to change the color spectrum as it formed. Everything went orange.  
Pulse after pulse altered what they saw, the humans below not knowing who to root for as the Savior was destroying far more than he was saving. In fact, it seemed malicious to them, were they misled?  
It's spectral vitality began to pool, emerging through as this gigantic blast ready to fire at just the right moment.

That . . . Looks really horrible.

Only one thing to do now, he didn't know if he could do it. Would he even survive? Why did he always ask himself these questions at these times?

Summoning up all he had within him, the very atoms that made up his cellular structure vibrated. They held power, potential energy untapped.

Now was the moment to release all of that, lest he and the world die.

Here it comes

. . .

All of his strength, every single bit of his malice came together, in turn forming a massive wall of vermillion. It flowed like the flames of a star, burning so brightly above the city's glistening eyes.  
And the two powers collided. The blast overwhelmed Vergil, burning past him as it nearly tore his physical form apart. A ruthless bark escaped his lips, the might of his inner-self coming to the forefront.  
He drove through it, forcing all that rushing matter to split around him, his scorching odium stretching beyond his physical means briefly.

Vergil growled, his voice echoing out to the Savior's ears.

"I'm tolling after you, father. . . You will not escape MY WRATH!"

In a solitary moment, it all went white, and Sparda's remade body lurched back, as an unholy eruption blistered through it.

All the city's denizen's stared, never seeing something as bright or as amazing before. Like a comet crashing into an asteroid, the celestial release temporarily blinded everyone.  
Wish he may, wish he might, the end had come, and he'd been left with no fortune or fame, merely a broken shell and hollow in his chest. He tried, at least.

For a time, it all seemed to fade away, as if nothing existed anymore.

* * *

. . .

Vergil felt familiar hands grasp his neck and back, and brotherly arms wrap around him. A soft, benevolent voice whispered in his ear.

"Thank you."

Within a blink of an eye, he vanished, afraid to stop because he couldn't control time.

And in that moment, Vergil knew. . . Dante _will_ rest in peace, free. His amulet laid on the ground near his head. Vergil had fallen to earth, but someone had made sure he landed without harm.  
Blinking, he cleared his eyes for a moment, and raised up his wounded body from the soil. Moving hurt everything. He looked at Dante's totem, a part of him remaining in the physical world.

He couldn't look at it with anything other than a gloomy smile, his face feeling it had run out of meanings to conjure.

Gently he took it and placed it in his pocket.

He needed to leave this place, enough was enough.

He saw Lady watching him, emerged from the ruins unharmed, a look of sheer shock in her eyes. But it didn't matter, he walked away. . . Back to his house, if it even survived the chaos.

At first there was silence inside. Emotions swirled nonstop in his chest. Each new wave a hot trail of agony as slim, bare shoulders shook in each rake of sentiment through his frame.  
Fire he felt shame and anger, burning just under his skin. Then, a deep emptiness filled his heart as the feelings brewed over and boiled past his seams.

He could no longer hold together.

He didn't know what he was anymore, something was turning him upside down.

Breath hitched in his throat as his knees grew weak and he slumped to the cold floor.

"And here I thought I was incapable of crying." Vergil muttered as he noticed the tear stains on the ground.

The anger he'd used felt expelled, exhausting his every fiber of vibrance. On this day, all of Fortuna had seen him and known that the devil was alive and well.

Lady entered.

. . .

"Why didn't you tell me?" She cried softly, "I deserved to know my friend had-."

She couldn't finish that sentence. She placed her hands on her hips, shedding tears for a man she hadn't even known was gone.  
Still her mind couldn't process the thought. Dante was dead? He was gone, long gone. . . Vergil had been here all along, and she was so stupid she hadn't even noticed.

This explained everything; the personality change, why he was so cold, why he disrespected her past and her name.

The reason he was using the katana and no guns.

"You were lecturing _me_ about names before. . . But here you are, taking over your brother's identity, running away!" She fired back at him, "You are heartless, always!"

Never mind, that anger gurgled right back, deep in his system, as hot as liquid magma. It stirred within, hungry for destruction, and he knew it was too much for him to handle.

He slowly stood, his muscled back looking ominous as he turned to face her.

"I. Did. Nothing to you." He replied, ready to snap at any moment, "The _only_ family I ever had in this world died right in my arms, and _you_ feel betrayed and hurt?"

Warm liquid trickled down his cheeks once again.

From the little time she knew Vergil, she never imagined seeing him broken like this. His words came rushing back at her.

* * *

 ** _"So what? It's not fair? You expect me to breakdown and cry. I'm not- I don't operate that way."_**

* * *

She couldn't believe her eyes. Part of her was angry for the hidden truth, she didn't get the chance to grieve, and yet . . .

Another part was horribly sympathetic.

"You have friends, you have people you know. I have nothing, no one to care." He was torn inside, something irrevocably forced to the surface, "Would _you_ even miss me?"

As he spoke, she walked towards him with a knowing look, his face seemingly ready to kill.

Out of nowhere, her lips brushed against his. Not innocently, like a tease almost, she licked his lips and he followed for a second, unsure what just occurred.

It was fiery, passionate and demanding.

She wanted to pull away before she lost herself, but she couldn't bring herself to it. She was so broken down, busted. She wanted someone to fix her again.  
In this minted moment, her senses were crushed by selfish want, and she could no longer think straight. His tensed nerves soon began to relax, his troubles, his agony began to melt away.  
All he could think was why. Why would she do this with him? He felt he'd hurt her so much, yet they were here, and now. She moved forward into him, and he tasted her lips.

A human woman could do a lot with her assets, in this case, it was the prodigy of kissing.

After a moment of strangeness, the initial motions ceased, and he realized what had happened.

Her eyes leisurely began to open, lids and lashes relaxed as she slowly drunk in the cool air. They parted, and he stared back, his eyes confused.

She rested her forehead upon his, placing her hands behind his ears and on his neck.

He just stared.

"Why?" He said.

"Because I have no one else." She replied.

Without hesitation, they embraced one another. Their faces united once more, her plump, velvety lips compelling against his slimmer, warm ones, dancing around and soon bonding together.  
She grew insistent, her tongue was parting his mouth, sending wild excitation along her nerves, inflicting good vibrations she had not known often.  
The world was cruel, she hadn't been with anyone for a long time. He'd been trapped in hell, forced to serve a dark master beyond his will, he related to this better than anyone.

The heat flowing throughout her body began to grow as she felt his other hand slide through her cleavage and onto her skirt, in contact with her thigh.  
She slowly began to unhook the buttons on her blouse, letting it hang loosely. They locked eyes for a moment. Doubt still crossed him. Lady slowly nodded in agreement, and she avoided his eyes.  
She'd kicked off her boots, the brown things laying across the side of his old bed. Her toenails were red; classy. He lifted her right off her feet, carrying her toward the cot.

It was effortless even when he was so wounded.

He placed her down on the mattress, it's surface fluffy and inviting.

Kissing from her toes upward, slowly his hands soothed her legs.

She reached for his belt, unbuckling and unzipping for him.

Lady could see something totally different on his face, a combination of lust and something else. That was new for him. She felt her back arch in anticipation, knowing where he would soon reach.  
They kept looking at one another, knowing it felt right, yet somehow still wrong on some intrinsic level. Their realm was strange and unforgiving, couldn't they have this one instant without feeling guilty?  
She'd gotten his coat and shirt off, and all his marks and battle wounds laid bare. He was just as scarred as she was. Odd, how they'd become so similar.

Under the sheets now, the cool satin feeling like an old friend.

She rolled him under, laying atop his chest enamored. She ran her fingers through his hair as they remained unbroken in their kiss, eye's closed.  
The light outside dimmed, his fingers reaching for the shades to draw the window shut. She didn't notice. The only windows were above the bed, they were obscured from view as it was.  
Despite knowing all that she'd been through, he could sense a glow within her, blooming forth. It glistered so special, tainting his darkness with a sense of radiance.

It was the first time he'd felt happy in a long time.

* * *

. . .

* * *

An hour later, the two laid in one another's arms, nude, neither one of them wanting to speak. She lay above him adoring his face, occasionally pecking at his chin or neck.  
He just held onto her, feeling her every bit of skin mixed with his own. Savoring the moment; they wanted to forget about their problems and just stay like this, attached. The warmth of another. . .

"Lady." He broke the silence.

She didn't answer him, but he knew she was listening.

He could here the sound of the locals moving about, trying to check their houses. All their personal affections had to be secured, as well as their loved ones left unchecked.  
Soon, they would start to fix all the chaos caused by that old fart. He wanted to say something, perhaps explain what Dante's death had done to him, what it meant to him.  
He wanted to tell her what led to him taking over his brother's business, and using his name. He finally realized everything.

Lady held unto him tighter, like she didn't want to ever let him go.

He understood though, right now she was afraid of someone, holding onto him for shelter.

It must be what Arkham had done to her. The scars ran deeper than flesh, running to her roots. But in the end, they spent an intimate moment both of them needed.  
He felt a sense of responsibility towards her, he'd hurt her just as much as Arkham, in a way. The psychological damage might never fully be repaired. To think she always acted like she hated Dante.  
He'd found a few notes in his office mentioning some of Lady's 'interesting' behavior, but he'd just written it off as idiotic humanity. That was his own viewpoint, and he now disagreed with it.

They still had some measure of time, so he gave into her wants.

* * *

Sometime later, the sun was setting, and the little girl rode out with the captain, a fractured city in her wake

* * *

Patty, with Captain Morgan, traveled through, looking for them. It was a horror she was thankful not to be close to.

The streets looked similar to skeletons stripped of their flesh. All that remained was the concrete shells themselves, no glass, no wood, nothing any scavengers could use.

Even the street-lamps were cut down and dragged away, along with a number of trees.

She could see a couple on the side, saddened by their destroyed homes, their children holding onto them.

A trio of men were in the front looking through the rubble, it seems like they were looking for loved ones.

"Unbelievable!" Patty whispered.

She caught one of the people walking nearby, "Excuse me sir, have you seen Someone tall? He's grim-looking, walks around brooding a lot. With white hair?"

The man thought about it for a moment.

"Yeah, actually. I think I did. He went that way." He said and pointed her to his left, an alley.

"Thank you. Sorry for your loss." She said politely and continued her way.

The destruction seemed to be less on this street, but still there was damage to deal with. She wanted to cry, such a sight is too much. Thankfully, Mr. Morgan was there to comfort her.

"Hey now, this is apart of life. Some storms are too heavy." He said, and she convinced herself to believe it.

But she's a tough one. Patty reached a closed tailor shop, half-destroyed. A kindly old woman sat in front of it, lamenting the horrible damage she had to deal with.

Patty came closer to her and touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I hope you get back everything you lost."

The woman looked up, grandmotherly almost. She saw a lot of her own daughter in Patty, even though she was a total stranger.  
Impulsively, the woman hugged the girl and cried. She'd lost her daughter in the rubble, but Patty was a kind reminder, too kind almost.  
Retraining herself, the older woman puled back and apologized, but held back the truth from the young one.

She didn't need to know such horrible loss yet.

"Thank you, little princess." She replied, holding back her pain.

Patty was overwhelmed with emotion herself, knowing this person must have lost someone or something important.

"Absolutely. Can you tell me ma'am, if you saw someone tall with white hair and red clothes?"

The old woman sighed.

"If you are talking about Gilver, this is his house." She pointed her to the house next to them.

"Huh? I'm looking for Dante. Who's Gilver?" She said, confused.

"He's about the only person in town who remotely looks like that."

Right then, Patty sighed and decided to give it a chance. Who was this Gilver guy? She stood in front of the door and knocked as loud as she could. There was a small moment, so she knocked again.  
Still no reply. She kept knocking as politely as possible, deciding not to be so loud. Clearly, that strategy was stupid after about five minutes.

She banged on the door, almost punching it.

The door opened, revealing Dante but he wasn't wearing a coat.

"What in Sparda's name is wrong with- Patty!?" He cut himself off, surprised.

"Dante!" She shouted and hugged him immediately. She felt him tense a bit, keeping his balance.

He also smelled differently, a lovely, almost powdery smell akin to perfume, but it was mixed with his own aftershave, keeping it masculine.  
Maybe it was new cologne, she liked it a lot. Her fun loving face was just the same as it always was, positively beaming joy.

"Easy there," He chuckled fatherly, "I'm still injured ya know."

"S-Sorry." She laughed.

* * *

Thank **you for reading, I hope you loved this.**

 **I believe this is the end of an Arc, around Dante's death and Vergil taking over his identity. What do you guys think?**

 **For anyone who might wonder, I listened to two songs.: Fly, the letter soundtrack. Somebody to die for by hurts. And the rest is just music.**

Thanks **everyone and I hope I will see you again soon :)**

* * *

 **Angel Wolf Here: Yeah, so this time around it's different. Except for the fact that it's really not.**

 **For those interested, the songs used for inspiration were:**

 **'Hellbound' by Pantera, 'It Doesn't Matter' by Stephen Stills, 'Nemo' by Nightwish, 'The Chosen One' by A2, 'The Unforgiven II' & 'Blackened' by Metallica, and 'Tiny Demons' by Todd Rundgren. I listen to a lot of eclectic playlists on Spotify, so **thats **how that all came to be mixed together.**

 **The fights were hard to do this time around. That's mostly thanks to the fact that I had** a bout **of Heat Stroke while editing this. It left me** bed ridden **for an entire damn day, and I ended up being violently sick. I'm better now. A lot of that physical pain is the influence** for **this stuff. I was feeling so bad, and thanks to the fact that I live in an area of America where it regularly reaches 120 degrees, no water source was, or could even get, cold. So yeah, that day sucked.**

 **By the way, my formatting style mainly is made for the default settings of the site on the laptop version, so anyone maybe confused by the way it reads on a phone, this is why.**

 **I hope it sincerely entertains you, this might be the last chapter for a while. It's not due to some creative drought or anything like that, it's just the way things are right now.**

 **The title and tone were influenced by 'I Disappear' by Metallica, which I also used for influence.**

 **That's all from me for now, see ya next time.**


	16. Chapter 16 Carry On

**Chapter 16 ~ Carry On**

* * *

Vergil gently let go of Lady, and laid her off to the side in bed, he pushed the sheets off and took his clothes. The man sat on the edge of the bed for a long time. He rested his head in his hands. . .  
Haah, so many principles betrayed by simple carnal want. He was so lost, confused. Where should he go from here? What does he do? He didn't know, most certainly not. The day was early, or late?  
He didn't remember, all the time he had seemed to be burning itself up, like gas in a brick oven. His malice was leaving, a side-effect he didn't even account for.

She watched him get dressed, and wanted nothing more than to say something, but she couldn't muster the courage.

What was she going to say to begin with?

Vergil gazed back at her and the two stayed like that for a moment, his blue eyes characteristically cold. They stared, before Lady laid down and her eyes focused on the ceiling.  
The covers laid over her legs, leaving her top half exposed as she thought about what they'd done. . . What _she_ had done. Her world was cruel to her, making her cold and numb.

Vergil looked down and sighed.

He left the room as it was.

In her confused sleepless emotions, she was drunk on silence. For a time, it seeped into her pores, dowsing her mind in it's thick toxicity. The rationality of her thoughts left long ago.  
She thought about why she'd been drawn to find him, what she'd planned to say. When she needed to say it most, it left her, like almost everything else. She turned on her side, looking at where he laid.  
Now it was her turn to think about it, to think what she'd betrayed inside herself. This was the same man who'd thrown their city into chaos, who couldn't care anything for her or his brother.

And then there was him, her happy old friend. He'd always been like a lazy yellow labrador, a good confidant she never treated right.

By the time she woke up to what kind of man he was, it was too late to thank him.

"I'm sorry Dante." She buried her face in the pillow, and spent the rest of her time weeping silent.

* * *

. . .

* * *

The moment Vergil stepped out he saw the front door wide open, and the old man Marcos standing inside. He closed it behind him as he hobbled toward the slayer.  
Standing before him, the tall man greeted his old friend rather reluctantly. So many years had passed, at least one or two decades since he was last here. He only arrived to one conclusion.

"Good to see you are alive." The old man smiled.

"You're immortal, aren't you?" He said plainly.

The old man laughed, it's true. Many people are surprised by how long he has lived.

Vergil looked at himself in the mirror, it didn't feel wrong. . . Like before. The sight both stung his heart and give him a sense of comfort, made him feel like _he_ was there with him, in a sense.

"They say: It isn't about where they died, nor even where they lived." Marcos came forward.

His vision caught sight of someone standing behind Vergil, or more like some _thing._ The figure didn't resemble a human visage. This creature was mimicking ever move Vergil does.

A shadow that shouldn't be.

"It's much simpler than that. They simply stay near _what_ they loved. That's what keeps people here, nothing else." He remarked to himself.

Vergil stayed silent, glaring at his reflection.  
Slowly, he turned his head to look at the man, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean by that?"

Marcos smiled and chose to leave the house, returning to his place across the way, then coming to help others fix the damage.  
Vergil stood still watching, the door closed. He stared through the small pieces of glass in the woodcut grain. He looked down to his feet.  
The ground wasn't dusty, feeling rugged and clean. He scoffed to himself finally.

"Still speaking in riddles like always." His cool baritone was particularly low now.

Vergil suddenly felt to return to the bedroom, but he couldn't. How can he face her after their. . . ? Intimacy? It just didn't sit well with him. It wasn't like he regretted it-

But. . . For the first time ever, he was put in such a 'situation,' and he wasn't exactly sure what he was feeling right now.

In the midst of it all, he heard a knock on the door, and he didn't really feel like answering anyone. He just wanted to be left alone for now.

The knock continued but much louder. Still he ignored it, wondering what in hell he should do.

The knocks turned to bangs.

He rolled his eyes and paced to the front door,

* * *

"What in Sparda's name is wrong with- Patty!?" He cut himself off, surprised. Right there before him stood the short blonde girl, wearing a blue-yellow-ish dress and a hat.

He couldn't help it but to smile and at the sight of her bright face.

"Dante!" She shouted and hugged him immediately. He was caught off guard, and stumbled back a bit. He wasn't expecting her at all.

Why is she doing this? Did she miss him?  
Yes he supposed so, it was good to see her as well.

"Easy there," He chuckled fatherly, "I'm still injured ya know."

Patty let go of him.

"S-Sorry." She laughed.

Vergil's face softened, remembering the little adventure he had with her, "What are you doing _here_?"

A bit of red filled in her rosy cheeks, as, for some reason, she avoided his eyes.

"You. . . Said I can come visit you anytime right?" She gathered her courage and looked up at him as she spoke.

"Indeed, but-. . . I mean- Well. . . Just-. . . What are you doing _here_?" He ended up repeating himself.

He was confused, by visit, he meant the office. Why did she come here? How in hell did she even know he _was_ here?

"I'm not hopeless, I followed orders and I stayed safe until everything was okay." She answered cheerfully.

There was a feeling in his chest. . . He missed that; that childish energy, her girlish beam. It made him feel better, filled his dark soul with light.

"Really?" He knelt down to her level.

"Y-yeah."

Vergil played with her hair a bit, making her flinch slightly. She didn't expect it is all. Warmly, he pulled her in to hug. He smelled weird, like perfume and cologne mixed together, and something else. . .  
She was shocked, he was never this warm to her unless she'd been through something, but it reaffirmed for her their connection. She knew he didn't want her to think of him that way, but she did.

Dad.

When he let her go, he almost chuckled aloud. Her face was bright right, the most severe blush he'd ever seen.

"Are you into gambling?" She said, bubbly and ditzy almost. She pulled something out from her coat pocket, "Because I have cards."

"Hm. What's at stake?" Vergil replied, a knowing look on his face.

Patty bit the edge of a smile, when she got the funny idea in her head, a vain attempt to keep her creeping grin at bay. The intention behind her perking lips wasn't something that could easily be ensured.  
It was rather better to be insured, hoping for the best of what would happen next.

"Ice-cream cones. I prefer the ones I had that day."

"What? You little rascal," Vergil nearly yelled, " _That's_ why you wanted to visit me suddenly?"

Patty laughed, shaking her head, "Come on, knock it off."

The door opened and Lady walked out, carefully watching them. She stopped immediately when she saw Patty. Specifically, Patty in such close proximity to Dant- Er, Vergil.  
The girl was happy that she had joined up, but noticed her doleful expression immediately. What was wrong? They beat the bad guy, as evident by the. . . Complete destruction. . .

Her shoulders were slumped and her eyes cast down in a depressed gaze.

"A-are you okay Lady?" Patty posed the question.

Lady was silent at first.

She took a small breath.

"Yeah, I'm just. . ." She didn't complete that sentence.

There was too much pain in her, that voice was straining for help. Whether she was hurt from battle or not, the young girl couldn't say.  
Patty looked back at Vergil and noticed his own sad, brooding face. It doesn't take a genius to figure something happened between these two.

"Should I. . . Give you guys some space?"

"No, I'm leaving." Lady replied, "I might return home today, you wanna come with me?"

Patty crossed her arms, conflicted.  
She liked both of them, there wasn't a doubt.

"Uh. . . Uh, no, I think I want to stay with him for awhile."

"As you wish." Lady spoke kindly, then immediately left out down the street, walking away. She needed some time for herself to grieve, to be able to let it go.

Once she got a few feet away, she felt a hand hold hers.

No need to look back, she knew he was the one stopping her.

"Can you stay?" He whispered, hurt, "Just-. . . Just a little longer?"

She closed her eyes, not wanting to deal with this right now. They were wrong, this whole scenario was wrong.  
Things were twisted from how it was supposed to be. Vergil was evil, therefore he should've died. Dante was good, _he_ should have been here.  
He _should_ still be here. But. . . She didn't mind the other guy so much anymore. What was happening?

"I'm just-. . . Confused right now." She sighed, "I need time alone. I need to be away. . . From you."

She could feel his maimed soul, his hurting chest. His wavelength, or whatever you wanna call it. She knew she was making things hard for him.  
Honestly, it was just. . . How do you move on from a thing like that? How do you learn to trust people again? He'd lied so much, lied about everything.  
She should've known, all the differences. It wasn't that the island changed him, _he was just a bad actor_.

And now, this. This stupid, impulsive day.

Then she heard words that surprised her.

"I can't." He spoke softly, "I can't leave you alone. What if Arkham came back again? He's still out there."

His answer was out of nowhere. It's true, her father really might appear again, wherever he crawled from, and spawn chaos, like that night in front of the office.  
She would've died if Vergil wasn't there to put a stop to him. The way he seemed so natural by then, his moves were perfect. Too perfect, playing her like a game of cards.  
The day was progressing, sunset close by now. The slayer felt it leave him the way an old relative does, passing by slowly till you hardly remember it anymore.  
He knew he'd regret this one day, maybe not now, or tomorrow; but certainly, someday he'd feel a mistake haunt him. There wasn't dry eye across the city, everyone was in mourning.

And so was he, he was in mourning for his humanity.

Silence dominated.

To Patty, it seemed like they stood there forever. What were they talking about?

Her striking gaze left him hopeless. At least he saw beauty in the bleakness.  
There wasn't an answer for her, not one he could provide. So, they just were as they were.

"You know. . ." She broke the silence, "Dante said something to me once."

She let go of his hand and faced him.

"He said: 'Someone capable of shedding tears for the lost has a good heart.' He only said it once, but I still remember it. . . I don't know why."

Vergil could sense the conflict inside her, choking on her every word.  
Of course, after everything she'd been through, all that had happened to her so long ago. . . She was a witness to unspeakable crimes. Is it any wonder how she turned out this way?

"I can't understand how someone like you can be this way." She told him, "I don't know what to think anymore, I remember you as that cold, heartless bastard who didn't care about the aftermath.  
You didn't care what would happen to all those innocent people, so long as you got what was yours. You're so selfish, and yet-. . ."

Her lips quivered, ashamed to even think it to herself.

"What? And yet I'm what?" He said, lightly moving her chin with his hand, raising her face up to see his.

These two scarred figures stood perfectly apart, but so close to one another.  
She disliked this, even though another part of her fought that rationale.

"It doesn't matter." She responded flatly, "I'm leaving."

"I'm going back too," He frowned, "You don't have to like me, despite what we've done. Arkham is _my_ problem, and I will stop him. I won't allow him to lay a finger on you or anyone else again."

He knew he said something wrong by the look on her face.

"Excuse me, is he _your dad_? He's _my_ problem. He's _my_ family. I understand that you and your brother had issues with your father as well, would _you_ like it if I hijacked that?"

Vergil's mouth closed, and his muscles tightened. Rage coursed through his chest.  
But it was twisted, no longer something pointed at her. This anger was swirling inside himself, blackening.

His nostrils flared, and he turned away. The slayer spurned conversations further, trailing back to the young girl impatient.

Lady sought to argue more, but it was fruitless, she knew. So, she took a deep sigh to herself, then called for Morgan.

* * *

In the frozen air, the night resumed. Weather forced a change of destination, and so the voyage wed the longer hours

* * *

The sea smelled fresh, unpolluted. It was a nice change from the corrupted cities, or the industrialized island. For the first time in a long while, the air was clean to breathe.

The trio had returned to Morgan's boat, and the man welcomed them with a good cheer, "Fantastic! Great to see you lot made it back in one piece, that was crazy stuff back there. Ready to go home?"

"You bet. I need some peace and quiet." Patty cheered.

Oh what an ironic statement, considering she had minimal involvement with the worst of the proceedings. Children.  
Lady went inside the cabin again, and took a seat behind the captain, her eyes focused on the floor. Vergil never liked sailing, it took too long to reach destination.  
Besides, why take so much longer, when he had other means with which to travel? Flight was an amenity he treasured, one of his favorite dark powers.

He laid down on the small deck and watched the sky.

There was cool blanket of moisture, and a light drizzle from some of the luscious clouds. Beyond them, the stars glistened brightly, painting the black canvas with valiant, billion-years-long crusades.  
A cool zephyr rustled his hair, patted his forehead like a wet towel would on a summer day. This was the kind of thing he enjoyed; the quiet, and the serenity. He found it easy to carry on slaying this way.  
He recalled lying on his back pretending to sleep on his first trip ever to Fortuna, watching every little thing people did. His senses had screamed high alert, for he didn't feel like he can trust anyone at all.  
Not then, perhaps not even now. Still, he could trust the Bazooka Merc, her special predilection to virtuous revenge a comforting ally in these darker times.

Though he never noticed the salty air at that earlier time, it was that seaside aroma that took him back to the past.

He wished he really could go back there - Just so he could have a chance to see mom again.

He still recalled what she said those times when he needed a good discipline, her arms crossed, and her boot tapping the ground nonstop.

The look in her eyes was enough to scare him into speechlessness.  
Honestly, the respect he had for women was a deep-rooted instinct.

'Look at me young man,' She would speak sharply, "What do we say?"

He would lower his head and speak, "I'm sorry mom."

"And?"

"I'm grounded, for a week. . ." He'd grown familiar to the patterns of youth rather quickly, though it was in earnest.

How much he missed that voice, no one would know, but there was nothing to do about it. She had gone away a long time ago.  
He felt ashamed, realizing that he'd betrayed his standards as a young man by the way he allowed himself to treat women during his young days.  
The dark tower brought back bad memories for him, as a symbolic refrain from his morals. Arrogance had consumed him then.

It took a long time in hell to think on his sins, what he'd done to others.  
Now, he looked to the moment when he would live that penance straight.

"What are you doing out there?" He heard Patty call out to him.

He opened his eyes and didn't really bother to move, fearful his relaxation would fade away.

"I like to lay down and feel the boat move, while the sea rocks it every once in a while." He answered casually.

"Hm. . ." Patty joined, laying down next to him and staring up at the sky, "I don't know, it makes me feel a bit dizzy."

"Tell me," He said a bit loudly, "How do you feel about . . . That woman who put you in danger?"

The girl shrugged, her face leaving a sigh behind.

"One thing I know for sure is it's never too late to make amends. I believe the real heroes are the ones who won't give up, even if there's no light at the end of the tunnel.  
They'd still keep trying to find it, make it right no matter what." She beamed positive vibes, "And she's trying, so she's slowly becoming a hero."

Vergil lifted his head slightly to look at her in the side. Out of the mouths of babes: Who would have thought a child could rationalize something like that?

Does she even realize what she's said? Perhaps not, children are gullible.  
Still, though, it's refreshing to hear such an honest truth, and children are so very, very pure.

It's never too late to make it right, no matter what. But can someone like him really be redeemed? It was an honest question he'd never thought to ask himself.

He had been selfish in that regard.

Patty felt his warm hand touch her shoulder. She looked to her side to see her one-time protector.

"Thank you for coming." He said.

It was a bit of a rare thing for him to give thanks, and this wasn't lost on her. He'd been colder when last they'd encountered one another.  
What had he been through to make himself so much happier? The difference was honestly amazing, far removing him from his earlier gloom.

"Ah-. . ." She trembled slightly, weirded out by the sudden change, "You're welcome."

* * *

. . .

. . .

. . .

* * *

The bronze sunlight was swallowed up by the horizon. The bright sunny day engulfed itself in the moonlight, where the ocean's flooding made for a slightly rockier adventure.  
Thankfully the trip was over eventually, though it took longer to find another port after they discovered a storm had swallowed their point of origin.

A mere two hours later and they were on dry land once more.

Lady walked ahead of the two in silence. They were almost 'home.' Her's was farther than theirs, but at Patty's insistence, she would stay at the shop for a small time.  
It was understandable, the little girl wanted to get to know her better after she realized she was an important person to 'Dante.' She could lay down and take a nap for a time.

However, strangely enough the street seemed to be busy, more than usual at this hour.

It was called the festival of lights. Along the dark wintry lane shone hundreds of lamps; illuminating all with their flickering candles.  
The lights cast every color by the tinted panes, and Patty couldn't help but be reminded of candy. She could smell great food too, things like caramel-apples, popcorn, pulled-pork sandwiches.  
As a gathering, it was an amazing experience for those new to the city, or those who took joy in social interactions. Vergil was neither anymore, but Patty couldn't help herself.

It was as if the lane was iced by the baker on the high-street, and even better than the cake she had last birthday.

Everywhere there were folks in their winter garb, some wore thick jackets, mitts and scarves.  
To add to the gaiety, most children carried a lamp of their own making, their gentle puffs of steaming breath made tangible by the glow, only to disappear into the inkiness.  
At the stroke of eight on the square's old clock would come the first wave of songs, songs of thanks to echo into the homes of even the curmudgeons.

They'd constructed a little stage, one made of temporary metals and rigging.

From here came all sorts of music, traditional folk, rock, standard dance numbers from the 60s, even tango-infused classical music.  
The celebration was a temple of diverse palates, appealing to a wide range through both melody and drink and food.

"It's beautiful isn't it? I forget tonight is the festival." Lady told the young one, breaking the silence.

She was enamored, finding it a great dichotomy to the usual happenings.  
Vergil hadn't any patience for it, he started to walk away.

"Investigate, if you must." Vergil said, "My office is right around the corner."

"What? No, you should stay! It'll be fun, come on." She tugged at his hand.

He rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll stand here for awhile."

"Well, at least you're here." She sighed into a smiling chuckle, and ran through the crowd.

The two were left alone once again, and none of them wanted to talk much. It's too tender a subject.

Still. . .

"Lady?" He whispered, "Remember what you told me before? . . . Dwelling in the past only hinders you from moving forward."

She tensed up, but still wouldn't look him in the eye. She remembered their past conversation, after she'd shot him in the mouth.

"What happened to you? You talked about being someone's 'walking slave?'"

Vergil heaved a long shudder, he never liked remembering. Especially the horrible toture Mundus put him through.

A nightmare he has been trying desperately to forget.  
The girl was a safe distance away, so he made the decision.

"His name is Mundus. He imprisoned me that night, after the tower. . . You can't even imagine what that vindictive being is capable of." He paused for a moment, should he tell her?

She looked at him, finally. Her eyes were knowing, almost like they could tell what he would say next.  
A tear formed in the corner of his eye. Damn, again? It was a freshly re-opened wound, he supposed.

" _He_ is the one who murdered Dante. Somehow, I don't know. . . Before he died, Dante set me free. He allowed me to escape before he took his last breath."

Her gaze returned to the festival. She scoffed, her fingers fidgeting in place.

"And you chose to take over his office," She replied, "How can you justify that? How can you justify taking his identity? He told me you always had a reason for everything. So Why?"

His looked remained unchanged.

"I-. . . I didn't. I don't have a reason why." He told her.

"That's not good enough. I don't believe you." She said, and he could sense her anger rising.

The man turned to her, and laid all bare.

"I didn't have a plan. I had nowhere else to go, and I know no one else that still lives. I became Dante because I was scared." He nearly choked, why was he telling her this?

No need to stop now, might as well stick with it.

"He was always right. I pretended when we were young that I somehow knew more, that I was the stronger of the two. But that wasn't ever the truth.  
Dante was never scared, and if he was, he knew how to use it to better himself. I don't- I can't. It's not in my nature to accept fear, I crumble into rage."

That tear fell to the ground after so long.

She turned back to look at him, surprised.  
Never did she think he would reveal this about himself, ever.

He slumped back, assuming a poor posture. Ironically, he resembled Dante even more now.  
The man stepped away from her a small foot, ambling around as he felt his chest ache.

"Y-You know. . . No one ever loved Vergil. _Everyone_ loved Dante." He couldn't stop himself, the admission hung in the air like humidity in the summer.

He was so blind to it at first, feeling the decision impulsive and stupid. He always felt himself to be so above it all, like the north star.  
Shining so far away from everyone, isolating himself in cruelty. The thought of power comforted him, made him drunk with pride, hardened his heart to the truth.  
Beneath all his preaching, all his might, there still sat a lonely man shackled by fear of failure. Only a raven served as occasional company.

It never chirped, only spoke to his ego.

Out of nowhere, he felt her wrap her arms around him.  
A familiar warm spot dotted his clothes. The hug was a simple enough gesture - kindness, perhaps the fragile beginnings of something else.

In a way it was cathartic for the two of them, coming to terms.

The arms that held him were so strong, stronger than any other person he'd met. The feel of her body so close to his soothed him more than he had expected.  
Within seconds he pulled away, waiting for her to say something. He was sure he must look like some fool, but the idea was just nagging him more and more.  
He needed to know. He knew she did also.

"I don't know either." She answered, fully knowing his mentality, "I need to be alone, so I can figure this out. You have to realize; I need a chance to mourn my friend."

Oh. Right, and he was sure the way he looked didn't aid things either. He'd grown comfortable to be this way.  
Dante's appearance was like a second skin now, he wasn't sure he'd ever shed it anymore, despite whatever mixed feelings he may have had earlier.  
Vergil touched her shoulder, he understood where she came from. It had to be let go, it wasn't the right time.

He had no choice but to be around the corner watching from afar, in case 'daddy' showed up again.

"I understand." He replied, and he slowly corrected his stature.

Lady lowered her head slightly and nodded.

With that, she walked away. Under wicked skies, he knew not whether she was like the rest, if she was unforgiven too.  
If she could understand him, then he could know her, through the black of day or dark of night.  
She once laid beside him, watched his black heart scar darker still, but her eyes are closed now.

The lights were beautiful, he couldn't deny this any longer. Deep down, he wondered if he lost her for good. She'd never again be seen talking to him.

"I deserved it," He chuckled slightly as he looked to the stars, the moon peering out from the clouds suddenly.

He smiled to himself, at least he had that one memory. She'd be there when he was gone, it was what he felt, what he'd known.  
It was time to turn a page, and the door on his soul closed again. For now, he had the festival to enjoy. He scanned the crowd for Patty.

"Come on, Dante." He saw her wave at him from the distance, riding a dazzling carousel.

He started walking toward her, slowly. Spending some time here might not be too bad after all.

Just when Patty was about to whine about how slow and gloomy he looked, a clown burst out into the street.

He was as vivid as summer blooms - red hair more vibrant that a firecracker adorned his head, starkly contrasting to the paper-white make-up of his face.  
His mouth was playful, normal almost, and raised into a smile. His steps had a bounce to them, and the crowd seemed to know him as they all cheered on his arrival.  
Behind him trailed a mass of balloons, jostling in the radiant rays, each as beautiful as the next.

All thoughts of her complaint had been erased from their minds and she stopped to watch the figure approach, making a beeline right for center stage on the road.

The clown began his act, and all that purveyed him garnered their dollar's worth.  
He was a pretty darned good clown, making even the most cynical of adults bust up.

A few little tricks and gags later, and another, blue haired clown popped up. They had great chemistry, making the audience captive over the act as they engaged in slapstick magic.

It was honestly quite entertaining, and though he didn't show it, Vergil felt himself enjoying the spectacle underneath.

The clown bounced around on one foot as the other hit his red shoe with a mock hammer, and he switched feet as soon as he happened to bounce back around to his partner.

Even the light couldn't outshine her smile, all the children laughing. It was a strangely picturesque thing, the slayer was unaccustomed to such a happy setting.  
What great atmosphere here, his troubles merely melting away. Surrounded by warm light and a happy crowd, even Vergil couldn't resist a chuckle or a smile eventually.  
These clowns were far more talented than others he'd seen, making street-theater a somewhat respectable art-form for him.

Someone shoved a beer into his hands, and he was carried along by the waves of spectators into the crowd.

He managed to stay close by, watching with a light smirk as he neared Patty. He could see she was having so much fun.

Ah, how innocent.

* * *

 **Hours went by, and finally, the exhausted young one was carried through the office doors, the dark slayer dragging himself** in

* * *

Returning home, he felt like a tortoise retracting into his shell. The sense of nervousness evaporated.  
To anyone else, this is a place just like all others similar to it on this street, but to him it's a sanctuary. It's his cocoon, his simple rest.

He opened the front door and trudged inside. He couldn't help but to smile inside at the sight of the office.

He placed the little one to bed upstairs, making sure her neck rested comfortably on the pillows, as he left on top of the covers.  
Crashing on the couch downstairs, he took a breath, stretching his legs. Patty would return here after sleep, so this was his best chance for a nap.  
He felt this blackness come over him, like a blanket, but not a one of warmth. It was an overlay of frost, a chilled touch making him shiver.

He trailed off into a dreamless sleep, too drained to care.  
It was hard to discern how much time went by, but it could've been only a couple of minutes.

When he heard the phone ring, he got up, pushing himself onward to the desk. He collapsed, but spun around as he did, gracefully falling on the seat of the desk chair.

It tilted back off it's balance, sending him crashing to the floor. Counteracting this, he slammed his airborne legs down, banging against the surprisingly durable furniture.  
The chair ceased it's fall, bolting forward into place as the force of his crossed legs sent the phone's receiver flying into the air. He watched it sail, the long cord letting it travel far.  
He held out his hand to the side, and he caught the thing in his fist, thankfully. Bemused, he brought the thing to his ear after a moment of hesitation.

That was weird, he'd never done that before; didn't even know that the phone would throw itself that far.

Well, whatever, following that, he answered.

"Uh-. . . Devil May Cry."

Silence as he listened.

"I'm sorry what?"

The other end came back with more information.

"Y-your boyfriend died playing _poker._ Uhuh. . ." The skeptic in him rose to the surface.

"Okay, well - Since you insist, come to my office tomorrow and explain this more. It sounds. . . Interesting. . ."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Season 2/second half is here people, and it's gonna be a monster!**

 **I'm really happy about this chapter and how it turned out. What do you guys think?**

 **Beta Note: Alright, music used was 'Slow Down' by Mac Ayres, 'Seasick, Yet Still Docked' by Morrissey, 'Just A Song Before I Go' by CSN, and 'Here Comes The Sun' by The Beatles.**

 **Also some more influence from Metallica's 'Unforgiven II' again, god damn I love that song.**

 **Different choices than normal, I know. But it's a new beginning of sorts, even though it's directly a continuation of what's come before.**  
 **Think of it as an epilogue inside a prologue. It was pretty fun to help write, this one was a unique exploration of Vergil's psyche after all that he's been through.**  
 **Over the past chapter's, he's been kind of psychotic in this understandable way, now after the events of I** Disappear **he's learning to move on.**  
 **It feels pretty legitimate, I'm happy about the way it turned out, with a less brooding tone towards the end.**

 **That's all from me, have fun.**


	17. Chapter 17 Will of Evil

**Chapter 17 ~ Will of Evil**

* * *

. . .

* * *

The inner city grew out of cracked sidewalks like the jagged black-toothed grin of an old junkie.

The only splash of color within this grime came from lurid graffiti, all manner of phrases inscribed on the walls.

Meanwhile, the sides of each street were littered with injection paraphernalia.

Though glorious in it's inception, the streets themselves were smooth black slabs, merged with such precision that the joints were almost invisible.  
All the supports were concrete, akin to the construction of a modernist skyscraper, all it's corner-edges sharp and sleek.  
The buildings were nothing short of monoliths, bastions of a city's pride, stamping its arrival on the map of financially significant places to trade with.  
Yet, no one had communicated this vision to the citizenry. The street that should have been a joy to walk down was littered with garbage and the detritus of dogs.

Enjoying the crummy views would mean taking your eye off your shoes, and no one wanted to do that.

A man was on his way, but he couldn't help noticing the sound of something else following him close by.

'Relax, you're almost home,' He kept telling himself over and over again but it wasn't of any particular use. He was afraid.

From the darkness came the sound of heavy limbs dragging across the street ground. It sounded like a sickly gorilla, massive arms grinding. Either it lugged it's feet or carried it's arms low, scraping along.  
Every once in a while would come a cracking noise like bone on wood, or what sounded similar. It was like a thick skull crashing into a tree trunk. The sickening crunches made the man's stomach flip.  
This thing. . . Whatever it was, was neither graceful, lithe-ed, nor blessed with progressive thoughts. By chattering blue lips, trembling muscles crept slowly as there was no other option, not anymore.  
He was about to run, the grumbling growing nearer and nearer.

Something green shifted in front of him.

The man stumbled backwards at the sight of it. It was a giant creature, one that was reptilian.

"Aah!" He cried at the beast, it's glowing red eyes looking like a crocodile's broaching the surface.

Razor claws accompanied black rags and dark green scales. It's massive, hunched-over back was adorned with spiked bones.  
The jaw itself was hardwired to chomp down as fast as possible. The face above it was warped and wide, like a pancake. What a mug.  
Inspiration doesn't come easily, but if the man was Dr Jekyll, this would be his perfect Hyde.

"Get back! Get _back!_ " He screamed.

It just laughed in his face, this Lovecraftian nightmare a true reality for him. It's arms were larger than cars, dragging along the ragged concrete like steel horse corpses.

How and why? That was all he really wanted to know, the mere idea of a monster like this being a perverse contradiction of biology.

Closer and closer it came, Herculean strength cracking the stone beneath it. The mouth opened up, spanning an entire three feet when all the gum flaps unraveled.

A mechanical rumbling echoed through the dark as the smell of burning gasoline soon invaded their nostrils. A blinding headlight pierced the entity's eyes, a motorcycle fast approaching it.

A figure on the bike yelled to the man, "Get out of here."

Lady was in control, her physique bubbling with human hatred. She released her grip on the bike, and it came rolling forward into beast's hairy chest.  
The man was barely able to roll away from the flame's reach. The entire thing went up in a ball of machine-hell, and the man barely escaped a flying tailpipe.  
She landed with ease, her muscled legs made for this kind of stress. She turned to him again as she removed her helmet.

"Go!" She yelled, dropping her voice down three octaves.

But he was too stunned at the moment to realize what was happening.

" _Move your ass_. . ." She sharply criticized his slack jaw, and shot off an entire clip of rounds with her pistol.

The monster had been knocked off-guard by the exploding automobile in it's face, so the bullets managed to stagger it a good deal further, but that wouldn't last.

This was the cue for the man to run, go home and be safe.

The demon ripped off a flaming piece of motorcycle from it's torso and stared wildly, tongue hanging down an entire foot, and it's shoulders aflame, like a vision of hell.  
Its snout and hands were scarlet, splashes of violent color against its sickly dark scute. Broken open from the crash, it's forehead hung the plated skin loosely, exposing what looked like a weakness.  
She pulled Kalina Ann from her back and leveled her sights on her target. By the time she'd raised her weapon, she saw a spiral of white feathers floating down.  
It was the trail of something powerful, a dark force that tore her demonic foe apart. It fell on it's face, bleeding. The man bolted off across the street, past this brutish incubus.

". . . What?" She whispered after a second of silence.

She gazed up at the source, and lo and behold, at the top-edge of the roof stood a tanned woman with vivid crimson hair, tucked in a reserved pony tail to the side. Still, bangs covered half her face.

"Who are you!?"

The woman was quiet at first, staying silent as she flung herself from the rooftop.  
She landed with grace, releasing a shockwave as she touched the ground. She wasn't injured at all.

"I apologize. Miss. I didn't mean to take over your occupation." She spoke calmly, in somewhat broken english, "I came here for you, as I smell Dante all over you.  
Can you please have lead me on for him?"

"Uh, sure. . . When did you meet him?" Lady requested the info for posterity's sake.

"Will, about two weeks or so," The girl replied, "We took a walk everywhere in the forest, then fought for the safe of my peoples-"

Lady closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. She let out a sigh as she returned to her bazooka, heaping it over onto her back.  
Of course, she would have known that getting intimate with a man like that would mark her forever with the same luck as Dant-Vergil. Vergil.

"-Enough, enough, I don't wanna hear about your stupid picnic. His office is this way."

Lucia was surprised by the weird reaction, but a smile graced her polite face.

"If you are his girlfriend, relaxed. I will not steel your man." She said, placing her hand on her shoulder, "I wish to be his semantic on missions abroad. The case of strange wolves."

So confident, so. . . Incorrect. And that assumption.

Girlfriend? Oh lord, this girl was lost.

"I'm not-. . . We're not-. . . It's complicated!" She lashed out, "Just-. . . It's-. . . Gah, just- Keep going that way then take a right when you see a 'Stop' sign."

Lady matched her words with a finger pointed down the street, and continued, "When you get to the diner, go around left and it's in a backlot. You'll find it, the sign's like a christmas tree."

Lucia beamed a thankful smile, and Lady returned with a stilted grin.  
She grit her teeth as she turned her head back. God, this day was really sucking.

Lucia actually smirked, "Oh, so I am incorrect?" The tone was teasing, "Farewell, Female."

Lady stood still looking at where Lucia's face used to be, remaining static as the visitor moved on to the shop down the road.

What a 'person. . .'

Lucia went towards what she thought was diner, believing the light to be what that Lady had spoken of.

A shift through the way air was flowing was followed by the light vanishing, simply clicking off before. This wasn't right. Their was a tall figure blocking her way.

"Raah! Welcome to Hell, my darling." It yelled at her, a strong male voice shifting to a clownish persona mid-sentence. The figure remained intense, as if to physically say he was ready for a big show, a kind of exhibition.

"Who are you!?"

He had a deep smile, the figure revealing himself as a twisted joker.

"It's raining, it's pouring  
The Sparda child is losing  
He went to bed and he bumped his head  
And couldn't get up in the morning."

. . . In the stillness of the night, the voice of a terrified woman rung out, but no one was there to answer her. Rain can't soak what is not there.

* * *

. . .

* * *

Slowly and reluctantly, she uncovered her face. Blinking, she closed her eyes, resting them shut. Streaks of sunlight penetrate the window and were blinding her.  
She sat up, dragged her feet off the bed, and rubbed her knuckles into her eyes. Patty stretched her arms high above her head and yawned. She watched as her legs dangle. . .

"Wait. . . This isn't my room!?" She murmured lazily. But then memories came back to her, the festival, all it's wonderful performers and the ambiance lasting for hours, perhaps until midnight or later.

Patty felt slightly freaked out when she didn't hear the sound of Vergil's snoring.

Wait, why was it so silent? Isn't he here? Did he leave her alone? The frantic ramblings of a child, but frantic nonetheless.

"Maybe he's just reading a book or something." Patty said, trying to reason with herself.

A moment later she heard the sound of footsteps moving about. Her chest relaxed.

Patty sighed, and looked at herself concerned, "Why am I afraid?"

She took a comb out of her pocket and started fixing her hair, and then she lifted it up in a clean bun.  
Such as it was, she'd probably still need to grab a shower, but her hope was to do so back home with the other Patty.  
They'd actually grown rather pleasant toward one another, in a genuine way.

Patty jumped off the bed and opened the door. There was still a sense of cooled air in the place, not too chilly, but just the right type of relaxing.  
She wished she could go back under the blanket for a little bit, it was pretty snug, but sleep's over, she isn't the type to continue dozing till noon.

Slowly Patty descended the stairs and the moment she reached the open the door, she saw Dante sitting on his fancy chair. . . Legs lifted upon the desk.  
He was drinking something inside a mug, it smelled like coffee, but her childish intuition suggested something else potentially. Still, best to go with coffee.

"Good morning!" She cheered with a smile.

He put his legs down and took a breath, "Hey there, did you have a good sleep."

He concerned himself with one of Dante's magazines, becoming fascinated by the mere way women could even get themselves in that position.

'Dante' quickly put the booklet away, opening a drawer lightning-fast, and plopping the magazine inside the compartment as fast as possible.

"What were you reading?" She asked, completely unaware.

"Nothing, nothing, just a-uh. . . Just an article on-. . . Sh-Shelubist. . ." He trailed off when he said it, keeping his voice low so she wouldn't hear.

"Oh, okay."

"Yeah. . . S-so, did you sleep well?" He quickly changed the subject.

She came over to the desk, "Oh yes! Best sleep I've had in a while!" How? She's only nine years old. . . "Did you stay up all night?"

Vergil gazed back at her as she took a seat on the other side of the desk.  
He looked down at the desk, placing the mug off to the side. He wiped his eyes with his gloved-hand.

"Ah, don't worry about me, I don't need sleep. A little nap for a half hour is enough to give me strength." He answered casually, "Did you tell your caretaker about your whereabouts?"

Patty sighed, "Don't worry, I gave her a heads up."

Vergil crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her, "What's with the tone, little one? Did something happen?"

"Not really. . . She didn't do anything to me, it's just. . . I still haven't fully forgiven her."

Understandable, what the kid went through isn't something easy.

"Is there a coffee maker here?" She asked, surprising him again.

"One: You drink coffee? And two: What do you think I've been drinking?" He asked with a slight smirk.

Yeah, it was remedied as easily as coffee, she knew not to overthink it. What else would he be drinking?  
Patty couldn't help but smile at his reaction, not the first time somebody gave her that face. She did drink it though.  
It'd become like an old friend, visiting every once in a while to give her a boost and yellow her teeth. Nothing some toothpaste and persistent youth couldn't fix.

"I know it's weird but it's a habit I picked up. I want some energy to get goin here."

Vergil shook his head, not liking this at all, but still pointed at the corner of the setting area, where the machine was placed.  
Patty chuckled and went to make her odd breakfast. She made some noises, loud enough to get Vergil's attention again. He looked over to her, concerned.

"Do you. . . ? Do you know how to make coffee yet?"

Silly, he should have thought of that.

"Uh, I've never done it myself, but-" She tried to explain, but Vergil was already walking over when he interrupted.

"-Just step over, let me show you." He said, coming to her aid as he showed her all the steps.

It was so weird for her to have someone show her how to do something, no one at the orphanage showed her stuff like this, and her new guardian had enough money to afford servants.  
So, it was a little interesting, not bad, but interesting still. He fiddled about with the can, showing her the proper amount to make a tasteful batch, and showed off the advent of creamer and sugar.  
She could choose between both? Awesome. It was such a different experience.

"That's how it's done, then on most modern one's, you just press this button and wait. Got it?" He told her.

She nodded her head. He took her affirmation and walked back over to the desk.

"Okay, so. . ." He got situated, then remembered, "Do you still feel like playing poker with me?" He asked loudly.

"Oh yeah! I warn you though, I'm not an amateur player!" She laughed as she waited for the coffee.

Patty returned to the desk and asked him, "Where's the bathroom?"

"Down there," He pointed to his right.

Thunder came like the prelude to a great song, impetuous rumbling permeating the air every bit as much as the sudden rain.  
At first it was a crack, violent to the ears, but after came a rolling of claps, the great rumbling sounds dissipating slowly into the surrounding hills.

"It's raining again? What's with the weather recently?" He heard Patty's muffled voice comment.

"I have no Idea, heat is supposed to return these next few days, right?" He replied monotone.

"I dunno, don't watch the weather report, but the city isn't known for being _so_ rainy, that's why it's a bit weird."

The doorbell had a strangled sound, as though it's battery were drained. Just then, Vergil made a note to self: Get someone to fix that. He didn't want people barging in whenever they wanted.  
Not that anyone would respect the 'doorbell code,' Lady seemed comfortable just walking in whenever she pleased, but it was still better this way.

"Come in." He said loudly.

Streaks of jagged white crackled against a stormy blanket of grey, shrouding hot silver clouds with its blinding incandescence, emanating the might of an imminent storm.  
Barbed bolts endlessly protruded, filling the sky with blazing flashes of un-death. A woman entered, adorning a charcoal business suit and skirt. Her eyes were like embers, burning into him.  
Some women just had that smoldering look, able to bring a normal man to his knees. Her hair was black, darker than any fabric, and richer than ebony.

The raven locks fell down to her back.

Leaving the harsh weather behind, the woman closed her umbrella and held it next to her bouncy hips.

"Hello. . ." Her monotonous voice made his eyes focus, "I'm the one who spoke to you on the phone."

He signaled her to take a seat. The woman was a bit tall, not as tall as Lady though. Her coat hid a built form, one that was thicker than most, but by no means less appealing.  
Sitting down in the chair Patty once occupied, she chose not to look him in the eyes, so her expression was just flat. She crossed her legs, her black three inch heels revealing a stern mind.  
It was all about the focus, the rest wasn't important. He had a feeling he'd get along with her, she had a similar air.

"Tell me what happened?" Vergil broke the silence.

"My boyfriend was a good guy, always took care of his job. Suddenly, he got an invitation from someone named 'King.'" The woman started telling her story, emotions slowly rising.

"King?"

The woman nodded.

"Rumors said that anyone who gambles with this guy ends up dead. No explanation why, they just. . . End. The way he looked at the end, he just. . . He wasn't even a man.  
I tried to warn him to stay away, stop gambling but, it's like he became an entirely different person. He kept throwing his money away. He didn't _have_ an addictive personality at all."

She paused, but managed to find the strength to say it, "Until he played a game with King, and lost."

Vergil laid back on the chair, thinking this through. This was a little bizarre, he didn't really get jobs like this, or so his brother's reputation told him.  
It was more the idea that Dante's line of work tended towards beastly endeavors, or at the very least scumbag revenge. Maybe Vergil just didn't understand the business itself.  
Could this be an actual demon, or the work of a witch? He didn't even know what the man's death looked like.

"The guy sent out an invitation to me. Only. . . It's for you. It said on the envelope to deliver it to you at this address." The woman continued and placed a small leather box on the desk.

It was relatively minor in size, not at all the type of thing that would be considered an 'invitation.'  
The leather upholstery lost another day for him, it's peculiar pattern forever left damned to his understanding. What one couldn't understand, they couldn't see coming.  
Not that he wouldn't be prepared, it looked like some cheap jungle trick. The room's dim lighting did little to mask the box's ornate craftsmanship.

"Hmm. . ." He reached out to the little thing, it's weight little more than a copper wire.

He looked it over, the ashes falling on and on in his head. Shaking it did nothing, and as Vergil's inspection dragged on, the woman was clearly disturbed by it.  
What so special about it, was this man even okay? It's just a fucking box, open the damned thing. Somehow, he heard her thoughts as he did so, and saw a fancy looking card along with a pocket watch.  
The reason he knew that he was stricken by the card was it's status as a joker. The head-tails, the warped, laughing face. . . Arkham. . . It bore a superficial resemblance, he wasn't entirely sure.

That settled it, he should see what happens here. Time to bust out his nonexistent card skills.

"We have an accord. My payment is one thousand, since it seems fairly straightforward." He was a little shocked at how formal that all sounded.

It just felt. . . Wrong, too complex. It felt rather convoluted coming off his tongue that way.  
No no, no more of that, he wouldn't subject himself to that speech again, it bothered him too much.

The woman's face nonetheless brightened, like hope had come back. How little it took to please humans, they were like children at times, their basic principles so common and banal.

"Thank you."

Vergil scowled at his desk, then looked back at her with a thought, "What do you want me to do when I find him."

"If you find that King-bastard, I want him dead. . . I want his house burnt _to the ground._ " The steely look in her eyes made all the difference.

Vergil swallowed, "You have my word."

She paid him in cash, taking out a wad of hundreds that she had been keeping in her purse since her boyfriend's death.  
Then, she gave him a look at the picture of her flame from her smartphone. The sight was. . . Intriguing.

It looked like the man was still human only vaguely, his general appearance being one of filth and age. Gone were the vestiges of human understanding, twisted and warped by greed.  
The physical body was somehow degenerated into someone impossibly old, his eyes round crystals of unending stares, the flesh that held being corrupted and brown.  
Atop the man's head, his hair had fallen away, leaving only a few strands of brown behind to hang like corpses off the side of the skull. His weight had gone down, to the point of visible bones.  
It looked like a skeleton that merely wore another man's flesh, the sinew unnervingly small, though still there.

His finger nails had become long, wretched talons, as brittle as they were razor sharp. The teeth of that gallows-smile were yellow and crooked, their ends sharpened by damage.

Vergil took in the imagery without breaking a sweat, he'd seen far worse done to humans, and far more gruesome sights from non-humans.  
The general feeling he got from the man's appearance was that something had been worsening his health, though what it was he didn't know.

"How did you not know something was wrong?" He couldn't help but ask.

"He came home from a game looking like that." She pulled up a different photo and showed him, " _That's_ what he looked like directly before."

The image showed an underweight, but still handsome man, looking pale and with dark circles around his eyes.  
Hardly the same figure as before, he wasn't sure what was a capable of reducing a man down like that.

"I see. He came home like that? I remember you told me he passed shortly after. . . Now I know why." Vergil swirled thoughts around in his mind.

She nodded at him. They didn't need anymore words, her eyes said it all. She gave him a look of gratitude and walked on, while Vergil sat as his desk.  
When she got to the door and turned back, he returned her same recognition. The door opened, and that haunting chill returned, the rain nearly getting into his office.  
The bell jangled as it closed, the office was quiet for several minutes more.

Staying as he was inspired no confidence, he just kept on looking over the box, looking for anything beyond mortal sight. Sadly none were found, so he gave up his search for the last time.

Patty walked out, slowly, watching the woman's silhouette vanish from view through the front door window.

"Who's that?"

"A client. I'll be leaving for a job in a couple hours. You'll. . . Have to come with me as well." He knew arguing wouldn't work, and he wouldn't dare leave her here alone.

He knew it'd be reckless if he brought her along, but it would be what's best for the moment.  
If only that woman weren't soul-searching, Lady could take care of her without issue. Of course, he didn't want to offend her with a sexist job proposal of looking after a young one such as Patty.  
God, human interaction was so skull-splitting-ly difficult, he was sure he couldn't deal with this any longer if it got worse. He knew it would, but he supposed there was a challenge there.

He left his chair and went to get a drink for himself. He knew it would do him no good, but a shot of Absinthe was he required this moment.  
The bottle was green, and it was one of Dante's joke-buys. It had a label that read 'Absinthe: The drink that makes you want to kill yourself.'

Charming.

Patty felt a gelid zephyr, as if the front door was left wide open. At first Patty found it hard to pin-point why she felt so unsettled, but then she heard a voice.

Something was calling out to her. She saw the box at the desk, something about it was alluring.  
Like she was moving in her own, she opened the box and gazed upon the golden pocket watch.

She couldn't take her eyes off it, for some reason. Ignoring the foreboding character to the watch, her hand closed around it and her head bowed down immediately.

"It shouldn't be dangerous, not with me there. I think you'll enjoy the change of scenery." Vergil commented after finishing off the bottle.

There was a sudden sound, it was something slamming on the ground. He glanced back at the source.  
The coat rack was down on the floor. The little girl was holding his katana, unsheathed and admired.

" _Put it down, child_." His stark voice returned, along with scorn-filled eyes.

He took a step toward her after quickly noticing the watch around her neck.  
That's what the problem was. . . He knew something felt off, it just wasn't the box.

"A game. Let's play a game, _Dante_." Her voice was low and chilling, far beyond her range, "Are you going to die, or am I?"

She plunged the blade forward.

Vergil's eyes remained stern as he darted forward to the girl. He tapped her forehead, and she fell out of it.  
The slayer caught her unconscious form on one arm before she had the chance to hit the ground. Yamato was stuck in his backside, blood seeping down on the ground.  
He forgot how much his own blade hurt, he hadn't felt it's steely grip in quite some time.

"Well, that's special. . ." He grumbled as he removed the glowing pendant from her neck.

"Hmph. . ." He took the watch and carried her to the couch.

He took a breath before grabbing the hilt. Damn, she got it in there pretty far. In a short, but excruciating five seconds, he pulled the blade out, having to take two motions to do so.

The floor'll need a cleaning after this. Damn it. He summoned the hilt with a snap, and sheathed the blade.  
He then banished the weapon, and took care as he inspected the peculiar watch, it's golden curves unnaturally perfect.

Something was seriously wrong about that watch, there wasn't a doubt. He didn't know what yet, but there was just something fundamentally incorrect about it.  
A thing like that shouldn't exist, and it's only a pocket watch. Was he losing his mind or was this some kind of 'Sparda-istic intuition?' Only time would tell.

Patty stirred slightly as she opened her eyes. Once her vision cleared, she looked around, then leapt from her seat.

She flew off the surface behind the couch's corner, and huddled herself in a ball. She was trying to hide, to become invisible.

"I'm- I didn't-. . ." Her warm voice held pain, emotionally, "I'm would never do that. . . ! I heard these voices, I couldn't-"

"-It's alright. You're okay." The man interjected as he approached her, "I know."

"Huh?" She looked up at him.

Once more, she saw that usual half-smile-smirk looking down at her. It was one of those signature aspects of 'Dante,' an immutable quality of safety.

"I think you just solved the mystery for me."

"What!?"

Vergil took a seat on the couch next to her, "Listen carefully."

* * *

. . .

* * *

He didn't really need directions to the casino. It was hard to miss, huge fluorescent lights spelt out, 'Vegas Lights.'

"There it is!" Patty pointed.

Time to park. Vergil didn't need a car, but Patty did. Rather than subject her to a ghastly, life-scarring visage, he would much rather drive for her sake.  
It'd been a while, but he managed to get the hang of it after some time. That didn't stop a few mishaps, but the two of them just kept riding on, burning gas and lifting latches.  
The weather was turbulent to put it mildly, but thankfully, Vergil had obtained an old-school Cadillac, the giant boat of a vehicle providing more than enough room.

Patty had stretched out in the repaired back, the entire thing a little haven to hang out.

She kept looking out the side window as Vergil kept himself focused, so she could at least see where the place was.

Once they'd found a spot, he locked the doors and put the key in his jacket pocket.

The two walked through the huge doors, and immediately it felt like another world.  
Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head once they got inside, the entire ceiling a huge example of castle vaults.  
It was like walking into the venetian, albeit without the extravagant river running through it's grand halls.

It was ginormous, huge golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, all sorts of slot machines and glitzy games accompanied by old and young men that looked like they used hundreds as tissue.

"Oh that is _fancyyy_. . ." She murmured.

"Damn right- I mean, yes of course." Vergil replied, he held her hand and kept going, "This way, ya know the deal right?"

Patty's hands trembled slightly, her expression speaking volumes, "I don't know, it's scary. There's so many people here."

"No it's not, I'll be fine." He assured her with a confident smile, "Just keep that brooding face intact, and it'll work. I can check in and get a room if you want, you want to stay there?"

"No, no, I'm fine! I want to see the action!"

The more Vergil thought about it, the more he realized it might be a good idea to have Patty stay safe in a room.  
Her defiance of this would only make her unhappy, and that was something he didn't want hanging over him.

"All right, if you say so." He said as he stood and turned to walk off, "Just remember there might be somethings you never wanted to see."

She stood there with her face a little bit worried, but then hurried after as she realized he hadn't taken her hand again.  
The two kept going until they met a man with slicked hair in a purple dress shirt with a black vest and rolled up sleeves. He greeted them at the doors to a room marked 'King's Place.'  
Must be the right place.

"Hey, whoa, no kids allowed buddy. No one under 21." The man said putting a hand out to block Patty from his face.

"Are the Maitre D?" Vergil asked.

"Yeah? Did you hear me or not?" He said.

The slayer smirked as he walked up to the manager and stared down at him. His eyes intensified to a crimson and he spoke in a gravelly tone.

"I heard you say you would make special accommodations for my companion." He said, continuing, "Now, open the doors."

He stood there, weirded out, but resisted Vergil's tactic somewhat.

"Uh- Uhm. . . No. You'll need to take her home or put her in a suite. I can't make any exceptions, I-"

Vergil cut him off with a shift of his face, the structure changing for a private showing his triggered physiology. Others walking by felt nothing and saw nothing.  
The man choked on air as he saw the Devil's true eyes, and knew refusal was impossible. It was a technique Vergil liked to call 'Soul Burn.'

"You're becoming a bother, little man. Open. . . The Doors."

"Y-Yes sir." The man said, suddenly amenable, his deep voice remaining so as his mind felt entranced to do thy bidding.

They were led through to a room, where three other's waited as staff set up a poker table, and a fourth one who would be giving them the cards.

Patty tugged his hand, "That was cool, how did you do that?"

"You just have to be assertive, you know?" He said.

"All right, you I need a table for the little girl right here, get her anything she asks for, good?" The man who'd stood in their way told an asian worker.

He gave the thumbs up response, so the man nodded his head and came over to the duo like a waiter.

"Okay, I'm getting her set up, anything else you need?" He asked.

The man was roughly 5'8, but rugged. His facial hair was black and groomed well into a stylistic beard.  
His manners were unprecedented following that incident, and his treatment of them had softened dramatically.

"Yes, what's your name?" Vergil said.

"Ah, Tony."

"Hmm, well Anthony, come find me after the game. We're set for now." Vergil replied.

"Gotcha, gotcha. . . Okay, have a great game." The man said as he gave them two thumbs up, then walked off to resume guarding.

"Being assertive got that guy to be nice?" Patty whispered.

"It's all in the reflexes." He told her, and she just looked at him without a word.

Her area was set up and she sat up on a large bar chair, and her legs just dangled around. A man dressed in black help-garb came to her and asked what she wanted.  
As she told her, Vergil had taken a seat on the open chair left for him and observed the other players. Each was seedier than the last, the perfect kind of casino-crawlers.

There was a beautiful woman to his left, clad in a low-cut red dress, "They call me lucky Amanda."

She looked at Vergil seductively, because of course she would.

Next to her was an elderly man wearing glasses, and his beard was thirteen metaphorical feet long, "Name's Chris, so they call me Kringle."

The man on the opposite of Vergil introduced himself.

"Golden-arm Joe."

They looked to him for a response. Staring around, he just said it sarcastically.

"Devilish Dante."

The game started, and the first few rounds saw conservative betting, the players testing each other's strengths and weaknesses, everyone waiting for the others to make the first mistake.

Almost as if in agreement with this strategy, for the first half hour nobody had any real winning hands, it all going down to who had the highest value cards.  
Vergil was the first get anything worth a buck, and it was just a pair of two. The pot was small during that round, nobody bet much. Beyond some few quite moments, everyone was talkative at this point.  
During the tenth round, however, there seemed to be some unspoken agreement that everyone chose to abide by.

Right off the bat, all three suddenly had working hands.

Dealership had been passing steady with Joe starting in the first round and the next player over dealing cards the next round and so on and so forth.

The room was nice enough for this that the others barely noticed anything potentially wrong.  
There didn't seem to be, Vergil was counting on there being nothing. He had a feeling the danger came elsewhere.

It was now Kringle's turn to deal, giving each player five cards face down, before putting the deck neatly next to him on the table and picking up his own hand.

Since he was the Dealer, Lucky had first bid. She was noticeably smirking, but then again she'd been doing that the whole time so far, even when she had nothing.  
Everyone was wondering where she was gonna take them, what move she would make. The entire ideal of the game was predicated on deception.  
She raised the stakes a bit, everybody having bid no more than 2k. This round, Vergil took a small stack of chips before him and tossed them into the middle while saying, "I bid three."

"Hmmm. . . Interesting." Joe smirked.

Things got quiet for a bit.

Finally, Amanda broke the silence.

"This, this is gonna be fun." She showed her cards and the group collectively sighed.

* * *

 **All for now, thank you for reading.**

 **And I'm off for awhile.**

 **Maybe I overreacted a bit, but it's just I've been tired recently ' Creative exhaustion.' Reading that review made me explode.**

 **Thank you everyone and I hope you liked this sweet chapter. There is more to come, I promise. It's far from the end.**

 **..**

 **Thank you Turbo Sexaphonic, it's just a comment about a photo, no problem. I did not like it that much either.**

 **It's that reviewer been a bitch about it, and I felt like I'm** **losing it. . .**

 **..**

 **Angel Wolf here, just saying that Lilian's going on an extended hiatus for a little while so this is where this story ends for now. A bit of a shame, but it's just the way things are right now. This particular chapter was influenced by the songs 'Lady Evil' by Black Sabbath, and unsurprisingly, 'Bat Country' by 'Avenged Sevenfold.' We wanted a different approach for this, and that's what we were trying out as we both worked on it.**

 **I hope you enjoy it, for what it is.**


	18. Chapter 18 Fortune Messiah

**Chapter 18 ~ Fortune Messiah**

* * *

It was time to stare. Stare at each other, stare at the enemy. The game was designed for only one winner.

Golden arm Joe had a lousy poker face but the fact that he kept it the same, good or bad, said he was either better than he let on or just an absolute idiot. Vergil decided he was the latter.  
The game was a funny thing, it drove people further than any other activity on the planet, and it was more intoxicating than the most addictive drug. The rule of honor need not apply here.  
So, the Devil relaxed his shoulders, put his neck back and decided to have fun with this.

Looking down at his own hand, there was a pair of sevens, one Heart, the other, Club. He also had an eight of Diamonds, a ten of Hearts and the Ace of Spades.

He put forward a bet of four hundred, "I'll wager you four."

Amanda took the exact same amount from her own stacks and tossed it in the pot, saying, "I'll match."

Suddenly everybody knew the real game had only just started.

Kringle smiled an snickered at his hand before taking twice the amount, explaining, "I'll see you two hundred, and raise ya two as well. How d'ya like that?"

The Irish lilt came out in the old man's voice, he was a strange one.  
Frowning at the rather-loopy guest, everyone else hesitated for just a moment before matching.

There was an air of confidence among the others, to an unfortunate fault. This silver-haired prick didn't look like much.

Then it got to Vergil.

"Full boat." He said, casting his winning hand on the table. Immediately, he sent a wave of electricity through the air, the others didn't expect that.

Joe's face fell faster than a corpse in cement boots. In that instant, his skin greyed out, like all his blood evaporated.  
His mouth hung there, the lips slightly parted and his eyes grew as wide as they could stretch. All the smoke he'd puffed in came rushing out in one massive stack, escaping through his nose.  
He bent over as sharply as if he'd been punched in the stomach and from his mouth exploded a mist of blood that spattered his lap and knees, painting the table and the side of Vergil's shoulder.  
Finally, his cigarette dropped to the ground. The embers weren't enough to start a fire but they certainly shined brightly in that drab room.

The dust at Joe's feet rustled, and the man shivered. The others watched, numb as the fit tore him apart.

By slow, torturous degrees, the coughs eased, and then slowly, _slowly_. . . He passed. The man fell off his chair lifeless.

The brute who'd been ordered to oversee the game went to Golden Arm and checked for a pulse.

"Ah. . . Nothin'. He's gone."

"And this doesn't disturb you?" Kringle sarcastically responded.

Vergil stared blankly, "That's the game, you play or you die."

A rush of wind passed and the doors shut. The player's threw their cards on the table as they sprinted to try and bust them down. But, not Vergil.  
The devil hung back, choosing to let his senses investigate for him. He could feel it, the same thing that was inside Patty earlier, it was here now.  
Great. . .

"This is just perfect! The staff are playing jokes now, this is ridiculous. He had to have been poisoned!" Amanda shouted.

"Not so." Vergil silently said.

"Yeah? How do you know?" Kringle asked him, "This is a poker game, not final destination. I'd rather live than risk my consciousness for some arrogant ass like King."

The building abruptly shuddered. King didn't like that.

"I'd be respectful if I were you." Amanda glared, "He may've been poisoned, but i'd still avoid mentioning the host."

"So, does that mean King is actually among us?" Kringle's eyes widened, the old man was actually somewhat enthusiastic at the mystery, "Yes of course, it makes sense, a game of death with the King. . ."

He inspected Vergil, the slayer was certainly strange. To describe his facial expression would be like describing a smooth slab of marble.  
The Cambion could've been in a coma for all the life his face bore. But this was just the way he was, perfect in masking his true face, to the point no one could ever read him.  
He liked it that way, he despised people, humans in particular. No one cared about him when he tried, so why should he care about them? The mere idea was insipid.

"Oh? Are you going to start accusing me?" Vergil commented, condescending.

Kringle adjusted his glasses slightly, "This lad died after losing to you. I would say there's reasonable doubt."

His words fell flat on his void of a face, the countenance itself so bankrupt of love or fear so as to depict only harsh reason.

Vergil smirked and stayed silent for a time before giving a curt reply, "True."

. . .

No one really liked that response.

Maybe he was, or maybe he wasn't; both are possible. The room had this chord of tension throughout it, like an idiotic cult searching for the persecuted.

"Really, maybe this 'King' is actually an attractive woman." He glared at Amanda as if she were one of his previous lovers.

She didn't care for his words and the look was no longer welcome to her. Worse still, was Vergil's empty stare.  
The crooked man seemed poised for a hostile takeover, beaming a sadistic smirk with a smoldering eye attached.

"I'm known as 'lucky' Amanda, not 'King' Amanda. There's no royalty here, so back off."

"Sure thing." Kringle replied.

The employee trapped with them looked at both the slayer and the group rather uncaringly. They realized he was the one, he _had_ to be King, it was the only logical explanation.

"So. . ." Chris mused to the foreman, "Where do we go from here?"

"Play the game." He pointed ominously to the table, that confirmed the group's thoughts.

"Well, don't threaten me with a good time." Amanda replied as she strode back to the table.

She was reluctant to join the slayer. His eyes felt like scalpels under her skin.  
Given his nature, this was all he could do, they shouldn't have branded this behavior 'strange.'  
A small piece of her was wondering why he was so alien.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do we do about _him_?" Kringle asked, rather disgusted by the corpse in their midst.

Vergil and the siren stared at the body, then looked back at the curmudgeon.

"The doors are locked, what are we _supposed_ to do?" The woman said, and then beckoned Kringle with her right hand to join them at the table, "It's sink or walk, pally"

The two scoffed as they all reluctantly took on the situation.

And the round started again, the game master dealt their cards. Pure tension spiked up their backs as he slowly built them a new hand, his eyes having turned on them.  
Vergil's own eyes were so hostile suddenly, becoming rage-filled as they delivered a Judas kiss. The entire ordeal was idiotic, a locked room with a group of sinners.  
Lord knows what crimes Joe had committed, now he was in an abyss somewhere, surely. A cable strung through them, linking their senses as a sinister feeling overcame the room.

The elderly man glared out from those beady little eyes. Afterwards, he chuckled.

That laugh was not what the remaining players needed. Amanda's back tightened up as the demon's right eyebrow twitched.

Merrily, the old man raised the stakes once more.

The host started looking rather hesitant all of a sudden, but nonetheless, his caustic scowl never ceased.

Amanda raised his wager one extra and called it, seven high.

Vergil, on the other hand, glowered positively menacing. He dealt more cards as the round ended in a draw.  
Though the master had started them back off, he gave the deck to the slayer as a sign of duty, so the Cambion doled out cards to these poor fools.

"Humans," He spoke, "So reckless. You can't outfox the Devil."

The man picked up his hand, but it wasn't so magnificent. He looked at Kringle, whispering black things into his mind. There was a piece of Vergil in all, he saw two eights, a King, and two twos.  
He tried not to react, but Vergil saw through the old man's farce easy. He threw down the eights, taking a grim chance that it may kill him. Time to kill the light; assassinate the living flame.  
Ego's would strip the reign of significance, he was sure. He'd followed their movements from the dawn of time, their fall would be swift.

No, no need to worry.

"Two, please, Mr. Devil Man." Kringle called for more, so sure of himself, as if he'd already won.

He threw two to his hand from the deck, and once more, the slayer peered into the old man's eyes.  
He had a zip, a five and a four. He'd hoped for more than this, but beggars can't be shooters.

Vergil creased hid lips in that devil smirk, "What's your bet, old man? Are you all teeth and no bite?"

"I can't bet. I'll fold, I'd rather save up my money for a better plan." The elder responded.

Vergil chuckled aloud, his laughter sounding as if it were from a coffin.

"Not good enough a hand, eh? Tough. . . But, I have an alternative solution. Instead, you wager _your soul._ " The devil hissed, slowly stroking his chips.

Was he bluffing, lying? Kringle knew he couldn't give in, if he did, he knew it'd mean dying.  
Those eyes held no fallacies, the slayer was a man devoid of all human affections. What had the other's gotten themselves into?  
Certainly, they didn't expect to be playing with someone inhuman, and Vergil was making it clear.

Kringle stared him down, unnerved by the cold in his eyes, and yet. . .

"Heh. . . Hehehe, alright lad, alright. One soul," He'd chosen to laugh it off, demons weren't real, "And what will _you_ bet?"

His silver-haired opponent muttered out a single, bone-chilling phrase, "I have no soul to take, but you may have my blood."

Amanda folded, it wasn't worth playing with this freak.

Vergil's eyes turned silver, glistening against the dim lighting of the hotel's conference room. A casino's poisoned air rarely fades away, but the smell of cigarettes and shame seemed to melt.  
The man's face was pure evil, it's angular shapes doing funny things in the bad lighting. His handsome visage would sometimes seem to slip, as if something truly horrible lurked beneath.  
It made the other's feel hopeless, they knew not where the man came from or why he was being this way. He had a cruel streak through him, and they very much feared if he let it loose.  
He knew what they knew, felt what they thought, they couldn't describe how, but they knew he'd been there, been inside their heads.

Kringle cleared his throat, trying to avoid the steely gaze.

The elderly man put up a smile, this was his chance to come home, to win it big. . . Like Santa Clause and his haul for the children.  
He placed his cards on the table, and with an Irish brogue, he spoke confidently.

"Three of a kind, I win lad."

Vergil sighed and spoke, "What good is knowledge to the old when they no longer seek to be wise?" He turned his hand over, "Quads."

Kringle felt it, a tightness in his throat.

His lungs began to decay, their functions becoming crumby, sagging in on themselves instead of contracting for the next breath.

"Yes, I should've sought more. . ." He spoke ragged, "Excuse me now, the fool shall take his leave."

He heaved out a groan as he turned in his chair, and he forced himself to his feet, clenching his robust fist closed as he endeavored on, strained horribly.  
How could he hail the future when he had no concept of it's present? So he would leave now, departing for room 101. It's where he belonged.  
The moment he stood up, his lungs expelled congealed blood, blasting out sticky pain as he collapsed forward, slamming his face on the table.

His whole body slumped over, and the table's contents shot into the air, landing all around in disarray. The old man laid in a pool of blood beneath him.

The two that remained stared intently at one another, and then they glared at the host.

He seemed not to be bothered, standing with his hands behind his back. Patty had covered her eyes, she'd been frightened by what was happening.  
The little girl was troubled by the violence, weeping under her breath as she chose to hide herself from this scene. She prayed the mercenary would win.

"So. . ." The man turned his head when she spoke, "It's just you and me now."

Amanda had broken the silence.

She received a gift, a smile so sinister it drove through her forehead like a boa knife.

Patty peered out from her hands, her heart in her throat. Nothing of this game was normal at all, these player did not even fear death.  
All things considered, they took it pretty well, two people were dead from extremely bizarre circumstances. But, something was driving them on.

'Dante' promised her that he would be fine. There was nothing to worry about.

'Come on, you can do it.' She thought to herself.

"Need something, Miss?" The host stood over her, eyes sticking meathooks through her chest.

She sunk inside herself, frightened of the man. At this point, she wished Anthony would come back, at least he was nice after getting his head handed to him.  
For the most part, this guy was far more disturbing, bearing a huge musculature, like a wrestler. He was covered in tattoos, and his head was shaved.  
He had a black polo and some slacks. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face looked like someone stuffed a boar's head through a plastic bag of human skin.

Reluctantly, she agreed to take some of his hospitality.

"U-uhm. . . Some water." Her throat had dried out from the worry.

There was a long time of silence, they went two rounds with an unexpected result. Neither was able to best the other, the hands were just as good as their opposite.  
So, no one had actually won the money they'd bet. She saw the man's strong eyes, that hardened jaw. He was a handsome one. She couldn't help herself, part of her luck involved. . .  
Other things. She untucked her foot from her heel. Touching his shin, he wasn't that far from her. She ran her toes up his inseam. He could feel her wiggling around down there.  
What a pathetic trick. Appealing to him this way wouldn't work, however attractive she was, he was driven beyond these means, and his will was stronger than hers.

Besides, he had someone else on his mind.

There was continued silence, and the big man fetched the young girl water.

Vergil spoke to the woman at long last.

"I'm afraid I'm a little low on chips." He said, monotone. Those eyes turned crimson.

She stared at him, oh how she wished she'd had her way in another world. So sad that this was where he died.  
The cards were turning in her favor, that much was clear. She knew he couldn't keep this luck up.

Amanda chuckled, the look of seduction obvious on her face.

"What do you want me to do about that?" She rolled her ankle into it, massaging her foot into his lap.

"That's fine." He replied, "This will be the last round either way."

His face remained like stone, but she kept it up, continuing to use her foot to her advantage.

"Well then, let's deal the cards." She said.

The man standing on the side took the deck, he dealt them cards one by one. Guess that was how they knew it was the last round, the boss got involved.  
King would be the one to deal, of course. It made sense that he would be the one in control, his hands sure and experienced.

They went at it again, and when it came down. . .

"Huh." Amanda commented on the outcome, "Not what I thought would happen."

Both had put up a flush, their hands dead even. A tie was rare, if impossible in the realm of Poker. But if they tied, what did that mean?  
They both heard a noise and Amanda turned to see King clasping his throat. He was agonized, backing away, as if something was clawing his throat from the inside.

A few seconds later, his eyes turned blood red, and then, his neck tore open.

Hot blood spilled onto his shirt, covering his squirming hands as they desperately tried to keep the gash closed.  
The man stumbled, his voice gargling as he fell back onto an adjacent table, sending the pitcher of water flying to the floor.  
Some time later, he finally stopped moving. The life that ran from him fought against that will, and it won out.

The wound looked gruesome, as did his warped face.

Still remained the air, it's screaming silence seeming to suck even the sound of her breathing into the nothingness of the room as the man lay, deceased.

. . .

So, then there were two.

. . .

There were more rounds, but they both kept going as much as they could, trying desperately to kill the other. This was the end for one or both.  
She knew he was King, that had to be the explanation. Why he'd chosen to remain so obvious, she couldn't tell. A belt of rage overcame her crown.

Even the sounds outside the casino vanished as if the people were all tensed up, frozen from fear of what was to come. She could describe the sensation as creepy, but eerie was closer to it.

Under the dim lights, Vergil's hellish face looked to combine lust with hatred and brimstone. Such was the devil's nature, truly.

They traded rounds vile until finally. . .

"Hah, another flush, sorry bud." She said as her hand beat the slayer's.

His bloodshot eyes twitched uncontrollably under his white locks. His neck suddenly snapped out of place, growing contorted under the corruptive flow of the King.  
In a moment, it would be over, Vergil would die, and Amanda would turn out the victor. His eyes fluttered and shut, his breathing ceased, and the curtain closed.

He lay there, so cold.

That was it, his name would be forgotten.

And yet. . .

She heard his heartbeat.

Lifeblood began flowing again.

Slowly, his eyes opened, calmly scanning her face. He righted his broken vertebrae, the bones steadily re-fusing together.  
To her horror, the man continued to speak to her, sounding otherworldly. Pain shunted through her entire being, a suffusion of stress with mental trauma.  
A dead man just woke up and put himself back together. He flexed his shoulders back and a sickening crunch nearly made her pass out.

"Hmm, that always loosens up tension, care to finish the game now?" He said, his voice blackened with hate.

His twisted grin was beyond her.

He shuffled another hand for them, dealing out cards to the both of them before silently staring at her. She could've screamed as she backed away from him.  
Her knees buckled as she returned to the fold. Her fingers trembled as they reached for her cards. She couldn't explain why, she just had to keep playing, knowing full-well she should be far away.  
She pumped out her chest and began making her fear vanish, filling her mind with delusions of grandeur. Yes, that was better. She could crush any man, they all cowered to her.  
They'd have to watch their tongues or she'd have em' cut from their very heads. Yes, she was queen, no exceptions. Vergil would beg for her, beg for her body. . . It was something natural.

"Hmph, I guess I'll just have to beat you again!" She nervously spouted off that annoying bravado.

His smirk curled into a wicked grin, something she never wished to see.

She turned over the cards, and with a little luck. . .

"Ha! Straight flush." She was overjoyed, she would live, "Looks like I beat the King."

He let out a gruff laugh that sunk her soul into sand.

"Look again, woman."

He reveal to her his own selection, the grandest combination of all, five of a kind. Her soul began to wither, tearing itself apart as she watched his crimson eyes.  
They were the last thing she'd see. His eyes, whose boundaries barely contained his malice, furrowed through to her final moments of life. That was it, the ending of her existence.  
She felt a warm, sticky fluid trickle down her legs. Looking down, she saw it, of course. Her blood was flowing freely, a new wound opened from her stomach.

Horrified by the sight, she felt her lungs 'pop,' and soon, copper fluid escaped her lips, dribbling down to the floor.

She slumped dead right there and then, her head hanging limply in the chair.

Vergil stood up. He needed to move around, get up, get anywhere. He readjusted his neck, cracking upward as he stretched his muscles.

Turning his head, he set his sights on that adorable face. It looked to him with beaming eyes, so hopeful.  
Patty was ecstatic, he'd won after all. He gave her a good scare when he'd dropped dead earlier, but she could see now.

He was beyond death, it's nagging, insistent clutch something he regularly stamped out with the fiery hatred of the sun. He hated to lose more than anything.

When those eyes reached her, she knew there was something dreadfully wrong here, almost immediately.  
They were empty, glossed over by a film, like scar tissue. He merely ceased to be himself, the smile giving it away easily.  
Not again. . . Not another false victory, she'd had it with imposter's after Ulmarag's trick.

He spoke with a brazen, menacing voice; the cold rage present booming without waver.

"The next game is with you." He said, veins emerging across his pale face.

She wanted to scream. This was _not_ how it was supposed to happen. He should've just said no to the job, like she would've. Hindsight is always 20/20.  
This was a power even beyond Dante's comprehension. There wasn't even a comparison, if this took him over, then it was an evil far from humanity's level.

"Dante!? Are you okay?" She trembled.

He abruptly lunged, jumping for her throat. The girl barely managed to dodge, rolling to the side with surprising agility.  
The man put his fist through the several-inches-thick wall, leaving a hole through the insolation. It was a thick boundary, you couldn't see the damage on the outside.

He stood still as he settled his eyes on her, only a few feet away.

"I'm grand, let's play. You remember the rules, don't you?" His voice deepened like hers had at the shop, "You were so kind to _teach me,_ I still feel the wound."

There was so much anger in his voice, she took a step back, removing the knife he'd given her earlier.  
It was in case anything bad happened, this most definitely counted. She held it with two hands, like a small sword.  
Her grip was tenuous at best, shaking from fear and confusion.

Tightening her hands around it, she desperately pleaded, "Dante, please stop. You're scaring me!"

He took a step toward her, and for just one second, she saw his face change, though it was so brief it would seem unnoticed.  
Still, she saw it, captured it. . . For one moment, a look of sanity was there, returned to him from whatever void he stores it.

That was all she needed to see.

At that moment, she remembered what he'd said earlier, that if things got bad, there would be a way to return. . .

Her expression changed to determination. She took a breath and leveled her weapon, steadying her grasp.

Vergil stalked her like a vulture, pulling Yamato and circling the blade in his hand casually before resting it's point directly at her face, "Time to end the game."

"No-. . . S-sorry Dante!" She said, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

She gave a shout and jumped back as she threw the knife straight.

He'd lunged after her, but expected a stab rather than a throw. His blade missed her by an inch, slicing off but a few hairs from her dangling lock.  
The dagger pierced his chest, he heard it as it entered him. The sound of steel on flesh was unmistakable. He sank to his knees within seconds.  
It was like time itself stopped, ceasing it's flow as he processed what just happened. He started convulsing and trembling, like a rabid animal. Then, his head hit the floor.

Patty closed her eyes. . . Burying herself inside her own shell, she just waited, hoping this was all finally over. She was alone for what seemed like an eternity.

The sound of a door unlocking echoed through the quiet room. The doors opened gently and stiletto footsteps joined Patty.

The woman with the ebony hair appeared, Dante's client.

"Congratulation, you are tonight's winner." She addressed Patty, puffing seductively on a cigarette.

The little girl raised her head, grief stricken.

"What's going on? What're you doing here?" The child questioned the madam.

She laughed, those eyes burning a hole right through Patty's chest, "Did you really think a son of Sparda would get an open-shut case?"

"Wait. . . _You_ are king?" Patty said, wide-eyed and confused.

"It doesn't matter, anyone who bears the chronometer would act like King, it's merely how I bestow my magic." She replied.

The woman gazed down at Vergil's body, her mind flashing erotic images of a future not meant to be.

"I wish _he'd_ won for me, but it's not a problem anymore. You will be as dead as he is, as they all are." She addressed the room of corpses, openly proud of her grim handiwork.

Patty backtracked. The woman's eyes were bright red, smoldering like embers. She was preparing the end-game now.  
Raising her right hand, she readied the girl for death. Now it was time to pass on, to watch as this demonic goddess feasted on her own flesh.

"You'll make a fine meal for me!" Her voice turned deep, sinister.

Patty gasped and closed her eyes tightly. . . Hoping for the best. It was all she could do at this point now, hope had gotten her through so much, even though she knew this was the last time.  
This didn't matter to her, the simple act of hoping was all she needed to survive. Her mind had grown feeble, and she wished at least for her final moments to be optimistic.

The attack did not come.

She heard the succubus shriek.

Opening her eyes, the little girl smiled, overjoyed.

Vergil looked like a rag doll trying to stand and fix itself. He'd driven his katana through the woman's sternum, the tip emerging out the other side, towards Patty.

"Dante!" She cheered.

"Y-you! You were dead, I made it so!" She shrieked.

He laughed, mocking her 'power.'

"Ahehehe, you honestly think that measly strength is enough to put _me_ down? You should've done your homework." He responded, his voice hoarse.

"How can you-!?"

"-Sorry to break it to you. . ." His voice was raspy, like something had erupted from his throat. He cracked his neck and peered his head around at the woman's tortured mug, " _You're not going anywhere_."

That was the moment Patty took her cue to bolt out of the room screaming.

The succubus took after the child, sliding off Yamato's edge as she leapt for the girl, "You little-!"

She raged after her escaping 'meal' but never reached the door. Vergil seized her hair and drove the blade back through her even deeper.  
Edging around, he slammed the door closed with a well-placed boot. The slayer twisted the blade for sadistic measure, intent to kill her. She let out a screech that was music to his ears.  
She enjoyed some measure of the pain, seeking a kind of libido from him. He refused to give it.

"Gah! So, you were only pretending to be possessed by my magic." The demon commented, "Heh, I should've seen that coming."

Vergil chuckled and took out the watch from under his shirt. The 'chronometer' glowed gold for but a moment before fading for good, the knife stuck through it.

"Nice shot, kid." He remarked on her accuracy.

"But how. . .?"

"Let's just say, I used a bit of my own magic." He eyed her form as it began changing.

Her clothes shredded away to reveal assets any model would be envious of, her nudity only covered by black strands of demonic material that connected all across her body.  
Her hair turned silver, and her exquisite flesh became even paler than before, to the point of being considered ashen. Spikes grew from her elbows, as did ruinous claws from her hands.  
On her neck emerged a tattoo of three dots, an insignia Vergil recognized as belonging to Mundus.

She felt his own nature become riled by her tempting metamorphosis.

"Of course, you are a formidable one, Dante." She told him, looking back at him. His stone face surprised her.

He ignored her attempts at seductions.

"Kid's got a good arm."

"Not as good as mine!" She screamed, shoving her barbed-elbow back at his face.

Vergil's jaw ruptured with pain as the serrated joint impaled his mandible. The woman slammed him back with a blast of dark energy.  
He resisted the flow of momentum and returned to his state of inertia just a few feet away, landing back on his boots. He jolted forward, katana in hand.  
In response, the minx lunged to the collapsed table, grabbing the old man's corpse as she rolled on by.

Launching the cadaver in the air, she let out a sick giggle.

He halted his attack. It was not in his nature to disrespect the dead.

Vergil caught Kringle's body, and seconds later, his head caught the one-handed-swing of the table the elder had collapsed on.

The demon had taken it on for the purpose of swatting flies, and she'd just smashed it across the face of their lord.

The slayer's head hit the wall, resting at the edge between the floor and wood-moulding that ran the perimeter of the room's floor.

He smashed his fists out to the side, generating enough force to send him back to his feet.

Standing with inhuman grace, he unleashed a salvo of blue blades, their glowing particles hurtling through the air as the succubus used the table as a shield.  
The defense was torn apart by the force. A solitary splinter embedded itself into her shoulder. He appeared on the other side of the remains of her defense.  
With a gauntleted fist, he smashed her shield apart, creating wood knives that dug into every surface they encountered.

She seemed to glide backwards across the ground, and with a flick of the wrist, she'd hurled the body of the game master at his face.

A target easily evaded as he ducked forward, rushing to her with his trusty sword in hand.  
She answered his call with a hook kick, shunting his progress completely. The woman followed with a direct thrust of her foot forward.  
Smashing into his mouth, the move staggered him back some, but mostly served to make him lament such pretty feet would soon be deceased.

In another time, they could have been lovers, she was his ideal demon.

This moment of reflection left him open, however, and the fiend was fast. She darted to him, leaving him exposed for a shoulder charge that sent him skidding across the ground.  
With another shriek, she released a dark lash of spectral energy that bounced him back up. His back collided with the wall, creating a crater. His gaze fell to the floor.

His body simply sat there inside the divot the impact created, calm. His arms hung by his side, unaffected.

Pushing himself out, he landed on his sturdy feet, assuming a completely relaxed posture. It was as if the last few minutes hadn't even happened to him.

Vergil slung forward, his face hidden in the shadows. . . He chuckled again, "Is that all?"

"What?" She exclaimed, baffled.

A black, twisted aura surged all around him, like a sadist predator.

"A low life like you, thinking it can bring me to my knees. . . Not with _that_ pathetic display." His voice alone sent vibrations through these sturdy walls.

"Pathetic!?" She bellowed at him, "I'll erase you, you arrogant halfling!"

She despised that attitude, though a handsome devil he may be.

Rearing her left arm back, the demon woman shot a barrage of purple, crystallic-prongs. He smirked.

* * *

 ** _CLING!_**

* * *

. . .

In the blink of an eye, the demon woman felt her arm sever, falling to the ground and dissolving into nothing.

She didn't even see it coming, and so, she roared in pain at this loss.

He loomed over her like a raven's shadow, driving her slowly to madness. His eyes swelled to orbs of crimson hate, the purity of his odium astounding.  
This was a fine evening, all things considered. As an ordeal, the grim proceedings of the game were small trickles of an inevitable river's flow.  
Succubi were curious things, a species of demon responsible for birthing generations of new evil, though they rarely fulfilled this duty thanks to Mundus.

He swallowed her aura, consumed her territory. This was the power of Sparda.

She was defiant, it reminded him of her. No, best not to think of her right now. . .

The demon charged at him, one arm left. Vergil raised Yamato and bounded forth. In a blur, he hammered the iron edge through her belly, driving it through so that the hilt touched her flesh.  
He'd gotten her, right above her hymen. Her torturous skin cut easy, like tissue paper. It wasn't a hard fight. It was never going to be. The slayer didn't even hesitate, it only took one fluid motion.  
The blade traveled up through her, her entire body subject to his might. The slice was clean. Her face froze, her whole nature ceased. It was like she'd been frozen in time.  
In the final seconds, her mind fluttered, wondering how they'd both come to this. She was assured triumph before, now that conquest seemed so far from her grasp. It was as if she were falling.

"Tenebrae vobis. . . Tunc obliviscar tui." He said softly, his final words to her, like a eulogy.

'Darkness swallow you, time forget you. . .'

An old saying, in a phrase of latin. It was just a touch of evil he felt necessary to address. She wasn't worth remembering, so he chose not to let it end in her favor.  
There was no glory in this, not even for him. Those people. . . While deplorable, did they really deserve what they got? No, it was more than what they deserved.

He sheathed his blade, it had served it's purpose. So, he walked. In the end, it was a hollow fight, one that left him somewhat sad, mournful.

Opening the door, he was greeted by the clean roman halls and bright light. Slamming the door behind him, the shockwave rolled.

And then, she came undone.

* * *

Vergil had pocketed a card earlier, but for why, he couldn't say. He felt the urge to look at it, feeling it may have been the idea that he sensed the outcome.  
Yet, the concept of fate was not one he subscribed to. Still, what was the answer?

"Ace of spade. . . I win." He whispered.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence in his head. He wasn't even sure if he was still walking or if he'd stopped.

Patty spoke, "You did it."

"Yes." He said, looking onward as he kept walking out of the hall, "Are you alright?" The man wondered aloud, heading toward her.

". . ." She was silent, her smile from earlier had gone, "You scared me. All those people. . . All those people are-."

She fell to the tiled ground on her knees, trembling. He rushed the rest of the way to her side.  
kneeling down, he held her shoulders, trying anything he could to comfort the young one. Her face was so troubled.

"Hey! Hey now, shhh." He tried to quell her oncoming sobs, "Close your mind to it, all that you saw was unavoidable."

She raised her voice at him, "Was it!? _Was it!?_ Those people _did not have to die!_ "

Her reaction stunned him, he thought she'd be happy he saved her.

"Why did you let them!? You're supposed _to protect people!_ " She was right. He was. . .

He grabbed her and held her close to him.

"Shh, shh. I know, i know. . . I tried-"

She broke from his embrace.

"No you didn't! You- you. . ."

She buried her face in her hands. Why did this happen the way it happened? Why did he _let it_ happen?  
All this time, he'd claimed himself a better Dante, wanting to outclass him in every respect, but that wasn't true.

What he did in that room was indefensible, using innocent people, no matter how crummy they were, as _cannon fodder_.

"You're right. . ." He said.

She looked up at him.

"I-. . . I screwed up. I didn't save them. . . I was too selfish and idiotic to see I had a duty." He lamented this moral failing truly.

She saw his saddened eyes. The big hero was just as sensitive as she was, when it came down to it.  
Or at least, that's what he wanted her to think. Though he did wish he could do it differently, the hint of tears was merely for dramatic affect.

Getting misty-eyed on cue. That's another thing he'd confront. . . Sometime.

She bought it, hook line and sinker.

"It's okay. . . I didn't- I didn't know." She said, hugging him finally.

Privately, he simpered to himself. This was what he had to do to get her moving again. Maybe one day he'd understand this type of regret fully, but for now, faking it would do.  
This was for her own good, they had to get going, lest the law made themselves involved. They were taking too much time as it was. She came back to look at him, his baby blues returned.

"Promise me. Promise me next time that you'll save them! Save the people!" She was insistent, and he admitted that he couldn't say no to that little face.

He offered his hand to her and smiled.

"Let's go home."

They went for the the door out, but before they reached, he heard the sounds he hoped he'd never hear again after Temen-Ni-Gru, gun's cocking.  
Whisking around, he faced thirty-two armed guards, all decked with pistols, shotguns and bullet proof vests. He pushed her slightly behind him and raised one hand up.

"We have you surrounded, if you believe whatchya see. How 'bout you let go of the child and come answer some questions for us, huh?" The lead officer spoke down to him.

He scoffed at that offer.

"I have a better idea." He mused.

"Oh?"

"You all stand here, and let me walk away."

This made all the officers laugh, who did this guy think he was? The Devil doesn't like it when he's made to feel a fool.  
Summoning his fiery gauntlets, he showed them all his rage, and they opened fire. At least a hundred and twenty bullets or so.

You tend to lose count of the bullets after you become numb to the sensation.

He remembered his immediate promise to the girl.

Save them. Heh.

In a white-hot flash, he smashed his palms together, releasing scabrous flames that tore at the building's foundation.  
Within a matter of seconds, the entire structure was ablaze. Vergil grabbed Patty and bolted through the door, out to the car.

"You promised not to kill them!" She squealed in his grasp.

"They can run, can't they?" He said calmly, and they exchanged wry smiles, though hers was cut with reluctance.

The fire flashed into existence in a wash of red and yellow sparks, consuming all the building. Like the beauty of running water, so unearthly. It was a dangerous beauty though.  
Flames leaping up, people scattering, running away as fast they could, others staying to watch. The fire picked up speed like a river does tributaries.  
It held its head up regally and proudly as its destruction spread, all while glowering at the surroundings. . . Daring the heavens to challenge its awesome power with a storm. It ate everything in its path.  
Yellow, red and orange. The colors of autumn; yet, can autumn cause so much destruction? A person stood entranced by its beautiful depths. It seemed like a woman dancing, bringing him closer.  
The fire licked at his outstretched arm, searing him. The smell of burning flesh crept onto his hand. It brought him out of his bizarre reverie. Yellow, red and orange.

The colors. . . _Of autumn_.

Screams echoed to those who stood outside. It came from a place of terror, telling of a mind lost in absolute fear.

"Somebody call for help, hurry!"

Everybody, get out of here.

Hurry.

She couldn't hear the panic, but he could. And it was best this way, an innocent mind as hers shouldn't be subject to death like this, and it was his failure earlier to keep her away from that farce.  
So ridiculous, _of course he should have checked her into a room_ , what was he thinking? He'd forgotten that spark of innocence, back when he was a child. Then again, he was forced to grow up early.  
Sweet smoke curled through the thin fabric and billowed in dense clouds of sickly scents into the hallways.

Tendrils of it swirled up into their lungs as they breathed in deeply and burned invisible holes of foreshadowed diseases.

As he started the car, he heard a frantic knocking.

They looked to the side, it was Anthony.

Calmly, Vergil rolled down the window, "Toby."

"Tony!" The man corrected him.

"Whatever. What did you need?" Vergil replied.

"You gotta let me in man, I got nothin' outside this job!"

"Hmph Why should I?" The slayer questioned. He felt Patty's hand bump his shoulder.

Looking back at her, he saw that knowing look. Right.

"Look!" Tony demanded, plastering a briefcase to the window, "These are your earnings and all the other players too, I cashed you guys out, and uh. . . Some other guys too. . .  
It's a lotta money, I grabbed what I could."

Ah. . . Vergil _did_ need funds rather badly. Besides, what's one more partner in crime?  
He was a good listener too, he'd told Joey to come meet him after the game. . . Er, Tony.

"Get in." Vergil said.

As he did, the trunk was peppered with buckshot, too far away to do any real damage though. The slayer hit the gas, burning the engine block to life.  
Zooming off out of the parking lot, the trio busted through a barricade and swerved out onto the dirt, driving off into the night. They got far away, leaving behind any paltry police.

* * *

. . .

* * *

"Was that really necessary? You burning the place?" Patty commented after a while of driving through the dark.

Vergil didn't need the headlights to see. He could perceive all that was out in the blackness, the empty desert and it's transition into an oasis as they neared civilization.  
It was just an empty basin, and sooner or later, rains would swallow it back up, long after humanity has had its run. The fires of that building summoned a deluge through which they now navigated.

The sound of drizzle helped calm everyone's nerves somewhat.

Thinking on her question, the hybrid answered her truthfully.

"I gave my word to the client, she _did_ stipulate that I must burn King's residence." Not quite an adequate response for Patty.

"Honestly, I don't know if you're a good guy or a complete psychopath." Tony spoke up.

'You and me both.' He thought to himself

The drive continued.

It was a long time before they hit any society.

Finally, after a long, dreary drive home, they arrived outside _Devil May Cry_. . .

Out of nowhere his eyesight blurred, but not because tears were welling up. Everything became fuzzy; then, he saw nothing at all.  
His consciousness was floating around, drifting through an empty space filled with thick static. Throughout the inky reality, his heart pounded loudly, echoing in his ears.  
Alongside fading pleas for help, the image of something primal etched itself into his brain, a single symbol. A wolf. The face of a wolf burned itself into his eyes.  
Feeling in his body drained away until, finally, all was dusk. It felt like some wretched nightmare.

In the distance, he heard Patty's voice. . . But he couldn't quite understand what she was saying.

After a moment, his eyes saw the color of the street.

Waking up from a deep slumber a thousand-years-long, his body ached.

Patty was slumped, standing under an umbrella near a bench behind him. Tony was sitting on the bench, nursing his forehead.

"Yes? Why are you looking at me like that?" He paused for a moment after noticing he'd walked quite far from his abode, "Tch, the shops are all closed."

"Are you okay? You looked like a Ghost. I-I didn't know what to do!" She whispered, the sense of fear was slowly leaving her.

Tony coughed, he sounded bad.

"God damn, I'm sorry I didn't call you sir, or whatever, but was it grounds to friggin' punch me out?" He was rather angry at him.

Vergil was confused, Patty was also thinking of correcting Tony to that 'Dante' merely tapped his forehead.

The slayer looked down at the ground as his vision continued to stagnate, flowing in and out of itself.  
Finally, he managed to get himself to focus, and he eventually felt 'right' again. He regained his attention.

"Haah. . . I'm just tired, I'll sleep for awhile, inside." He told them, "Come on. Let's walk back."

Softly splashing water droplets hit the office windows. The trio approached the familiar setting.

The skies were overhung with a blanket of grey, even in the night, so much so that he could barely tell the difference between the sky and the clouds.  
Despite walks feeling tedious, the rain commonly calmed him so much - The girl watched raindrops race down the complex apertures from under her parasol.

Something in his gut screamed. He didn't understand at first. As he approached the doors, the very moment he saw the neon sign in the distance, there was something that called to him.

The air itself felt wrong, and his senses were almost always right.

He stopped off near the stairs, and he was about to tell her to run inside immediately when he heard a sound of something hit the car ceiling.

"What was that?" He looked off to where he'd parked.

What he saw made him speechless.

Not so much of a person as a sagging shape. . . The face and hair of the woman from Vie de Marli, she was clinging to her bones for dear life.  
Her facial features seemed to be in a constant state of both agony and ecstatic joy. He didn't think twice, firing a cyan blade toward the rope around her neck.

She fell roughly upon the car.

"You?" He darted to her aid, placing his fingers on the side of her neck. He felt a very faint pulse.

"What happened?" Tony half-panicked as he came over to him, "-Holy shit!"

He glared back at him.

"Was she here when we pulled up?" The Cambion was insistent and derisive.

"What!? No, of course she wasn't!" The man replied, "There wasn't anyone strung up when we pulled in!"

He saw Patty make way to them.

"Open the door!" Vergil said, standing to the side to let the girl see. He tossed her the front keys and Patty nodded.

She unlocked and opened the double door entrance for him. Vergil hurried, carrying Lucia to the couch. Resting her there gently, Tony propped the two briefcases he'd brought with him on the table.  
Though he'd shown only one, there were indeed two, it was a lucky haul. Vergil needed the money after Dante's life of debt. He began trying to see if Lucia could hear him. What was her name again?

"Lucy, are you awake? Who did this to you?" He called out to her, but there was no response.

"Lily? No. . ." He thought back hard, did he ever know it?

'Lacie, Laila. . . Lainey. . . Ladonna.' The mental search kept up until, "Lucretia?"

Nailed it.

He placed his hand upon her head and started chanting, an attempt to restore her stamina through spirit. But, nothing changed, this was something he couldn't fix.

"Yo, look. What is that?" Tony pointed at her collar bone from the opposite side of the couch.

There seemed to be large teeth marks, the blood around it all dried up. Those markings, the striations across the flesh, the pattern all too familiar to him. . .

"A wolf bite." He whispered.

He remembered the two-headed wolves he had seen in Fortuna, but, that was over. He assumed it was.

"What, like a werewolf? Nah, no way." Tony said, "Not unless Van Helsing's in town."

The slayer glared at the man.

"Aheh, hmmm, maybe not the joke to make right now. . ." He then glared at the floor.

Vergil sighed and returned his attention to the girl.

"No, maybe it's not. . . At least she's alive. Barely. . ." He said, loud enough for Patty to hear.

"I'll grab some blankets for her." She ran upstairs for the bedroom.

"Blanket's aren't gonna close stab wounds, what are we gonna do, take her to the hospital?" Tony pondered their options.

Vergil ignored him, instead traveling to his desk where he retrieved something glowing.  
He began an incantation as he placed the object in her hand, slowly applying pressure until. . .

A green aura engulfed her, and the energy of vitality absorbed into her form, the chakra of Heart. Though her physical wounds closed before their eyes, her eyes remained closed.  
The more he thought about it, the more it made no sense. A demon cannot suffocate like this, a simple wolf bite should be healed like normal, unless these wounds are special. . . Of the astral form.  
What creature could do this? Cutting across multiple dimensions to injure both the person and their very soul? The wolves? He wrote them off as beings that existed for the Order's purpose.  
Perhaps not. He couldn't be sure now. Nothing was as it seemed, at least not how he wanted it to be.

What happened to her?

Tony stepped back in shock.

"Wh-What? What the hell was that!? Are you some kind of freak!?" Tony was shocked, unable to comprehend the magic he bore witness to.

Vergil cornered him, his red eyes glowing feverishly once more.

"Yes. Yes I am. Do you have a problem with that?" His prismatic presence came back to the fold.

Tony staggered to the office corner. He sank, his shoulders coming forward as his posture shifted.

"I-. . . I suppose not." The man said.

"Good. I could be your friend, Anthony. We could be very good friends. _Do you want me to be your friend?_ " The slayer's face grew terrifyingly close.

"Y-y-. . . Yeah, I guess!" He began to breathe fast.

Vergil's tone changed from simple dominance to manipulative coolness.

"You're not going to get scared by this now, are you? It's just magic." His eyes turned icy blue again.

"No, no I- I'm not scared of that, it's just uh, it's just magic." He said, repeating what Vergil had told him as if he'd never said it at all, "I'm not scared, no. It's just magic."

He repeated himself for self-assurance. One could never be too careful.

"Do you want to make us all something to drink, like some tea or coffee?" Vergil suggested, stepping aside so the man could walk.

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'll make everyone a drink." He said blankly, walking forward to the office's small kitchen.

"See that you do." The slayer replied.

Patty returned and covered the trembling woman with a dark blue blanket.

"Is she going to be okay? Do you know her?" She asked.

Vergil came to stand next to the young girl.

"Yes," He whispered, "I'm not sure though. I'll try my best to help her."

Vergil placed his hands on her left shoulder, "From now on, do not walk anywhere alone. Do you understand?"

"W-Why?"

He sighed.

"Whatever attacked her is _still out there_."

That was enough to convince her. No more night walks. Lucia groaned slightly, and it seems she was beginning to move a bit.  
Despite her invisible wounds, she was stirring. Good, maybe she was stronger than he gave her credit for. He remembered that she tended to need help.

"Hey, are you there?" He called to her again.

"It's . . . Raining. . . _Pouring._ " She whimpered these words, and then, she was gone again.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, I hope you liked this. It did cause some issues but I'm happy with the results. What do you guys think?**

 **More to come, stay tuned.**

 **Thank you Angel wolf.**

* * *

 **Beta Reader here: Hey there. I fractured my hand, and I also lost progress on this three father-screwing times, so it's been delayed quite immensely.  
** **I do apologize profusely for this, the entire chapter was far more difficult thanks to the nature of it as needing tension but not being a straight up fight.**

 **Song references utilized are as follows:**

 **'Judas Kiss' & 'To Live Is To Die' by 'Metallica,' 'Mad Hatter' & 'Hail to the King' by 'Avenged Sevenfold,' 'Go To Hell' by 'Megadeth,' and 'Man Kills Mankind' by 'Testament.'**

 **Each serves a thematic purpose that also includes references in the prose, I recommend listening to each song while reading.**

 **Or, you know, not. I guess. Your choice, I respect. Thats all from me for now, hope you enjoy.**


	19. Chapter 19 Nightshade

**Chapter 19 ~ Nightshade**

* * *

'At last. . .' He thought.

The Chandelier finally arrived, so he could hang it in the middle of his office, or perhaps near his couches, lord knows that corner could use light.  
It'd give the place some excellent color. The candelabrum alone was worth more than the combined annual incomes of every fry-cook in the state of California.  
It was decorated with the best-cut diamonds available while the frame itself was made from white-gold ivory.

"How did you afford this?" Patty spoke, amused.

"Let's just say I'll be eating cereal for the next six months." Vergil grumbled, "My fault, I had to fix this place."

Patty covered her mouth slightly, hiding her smile, "But you've still got a thousand bucks, that's good!"

Vergil's shoulders sagged in, defeated. He sighed.

"I had to pay off a certain someone's large debt, so that isn't much."

He looked back at the figure of the red-headed foreigner still sleeping on his black sofa. It'd been twelve hours, but nothing changed about her.

She hadn't done a single thing since uttering those strange words. He thought back on them but couldn't derive a meaning.

Tony was blacked out next to her, resting on the other sofa. Yes, those funds would come in handy, he wondered how much the man had grabbed.

"Check on her for me." His dark expression inspired no confidence.

"Yes."

Patty went back and sat on the coffee table, she knelt down slightly and checked the woman's forehead.

"She's cool," She commented, "Feels like she's just sleeping."

Vergil placed his right hand on his forehead, "Yes, but she won't wake up, that's the problem."

He took out the steel step ladder Dante kept in the closet, adjacent to the garage he never used, and prepared to hang his precious chandelier.  
A little bit of annoying work, but it was finally hung in pride. He climbed down the ladder and sighed. Such a beautiful sight to behold.  
Not the old, ugly look Dante had going. Finally, his poor tortured eyes could rest. The fancier look made him feel comfortable, now he was truly home.

He went back to the desk and sat. His mind kinda reeled about the strange event he witnessed.

Why was she not there at first? And more importantly, why was she hung on display like that for him to see?

His eyes drifted to the foreigner again. She was partway demonic, he could feel this, but. . . Something was just off, an indescribable facet of her.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but maybe something happened because of that.

"Dante?" Patty's call pulled him out of his thought train.

"Yes?"

She sat on the opposite side of him, making a seat out of the edge of his desk like she'd seen Lady do. Her eyes screamed morbid curiosity.

"What was your mom like?"

He was silent for a moment, a question he hadn't anticipated. In fact, this was the first time _ever_ that someone asked him about her.

"Why do you ask?"

The girl was silent first, wondering if she made a mistake by asking that.

"It's just. . . You're always alone and. . . My story's that I'm orphaned." She stifled in her tracks, "I-I'm sorry."

Vergil held a sorrow-filled smile, of course these words won't offend him. It's an honest thought from an honest child.

"She was strong and gracious, the type of person you seek out. . ." He replied to her. He took the frame that sat near the girl and turned it to face her, " _That's_ my mother."

Patty stared intently at the picture, a beautiful blonde woman clad in classy robes, and she was posing with two young boys.  
It was such a pristine, serene photo, speaking back a visual language of a quaint existence. She wondered, what changed that?

"She's beautiful." Patty commented, starstruck.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"You have a twin brother?" She asked.

The mention of Dante stung a bit. This had never come up.

"Oh, u-uh, yeah. . ." He answered casually, "But I don't talk about him."

Patty took the hint and avoided speaking any further on the matter. She returned the frame and smiled.

"Go get a nap, I'll watch over her. Don't worry, I'm tough!" That face was so adorable.

Vergil felt himself begin to smirk, such a sweet kid.

"Heh, I think I'll rest here on the chair, just in case."

However, within seconds he sensed something. . . Odd. Like a presence at the front door, and yet. . . _Not_ there, somehow. No way was it human, it was something else, for sure.  
But something else was beginning to bother him about this. . . It felt like an overwhelming sense of. . . Self-hatred? Interesting. He knew it wasn't for the young girl to know, surely.

"Patty, go upstairs and stay in the bedroom." He said.

Patty was confused at first, "Why, what's wrong?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He himself couldn't understand this strange feeling overwhelming him, like he was trapped under ice.  
Turning his head, Vergil gave her that knowing look, one that blasted volumes. She had to leave, even if she didn't know why. His voice matched that.

"I'll call you when it's safe." That was the cue.

She took off for the bedroom, fleeing. She reached upstairs and felt a draft pick up, shutting the door tight behind her.

Vergil stared at the front. . . He was unsure if he should prepare for a fight or not.

The door opened and he saw a boot enter first, then the creature appeared before him.  
On two legs, humanoid, it's head looked similar to that of a twisted goat's crown, two horns point backwards over it's mane, the face of a human smashed with an animal.  
His clothes looked like a normal human suit beneath a black trench coat, one that was fit for a business man of downtown New York.

The demon chuckled a horrible, black sound that launched itself at Vergil's ears as the man bestowed it a confused reception.

"What beast are you?" He asked the thing.

"You may call me Manah. . ." The demon introduced himself, "I'm here to offer my 'services.'"

Vergil crossed his arms and stood still.

"Then by all means, come in and explain yourself." He replied.

It laughed, "You've a good sense a humor, at least."

The goat's mug was rugged at best, looking like it was fed glass from year one. It smirked. An ugly sight.

Vergil returned to his desk, deciding to entertain the thought of whatever this being was. Beholden to humankind, this creature was so many thing.  
Manah took a seat on the visitor's chair before the desk, resting his clawed-hands on the wooden arm rests, stroking them as he began to submit his offer.

"I'm impressed by your tame reaction, Nelo Angelo." It teased, but his tone was calm and unchanging, the demon crossed his legs and laid back on the chair, resting, "All's well in hell's well."

The phrase was a silly little rhyme that was meant to mock humanity, the meat bags that they were.  
Such a twisted thing, now said as casual conversation. Vergil was unnerved, the entity knew him by his service to the dark one.

"You have ten seconds to explain. After that, your head is going on my wall." Vergil replied, adding, "What do you want?"

"Hmmhmmhmm. . . ! I _like_ you. So many others are too busy trying to anticipate what I want, or they've already pissed themselves, but you! . . . You _really do_ live up to the reputation of a General."  
The demon crossed his fingers and rested his knuckles under his chin as he leaned forward. There was a genuine spark of interest in his eyes.  
"I'd expect nothing less from Mundus, his standards for his armies _are_ high. But, lets not just waste time discussing your service record, there's business to attend to."

"You have three more seconds, worm." The slayer laid it bare.

"Yes, I suppose so. . ." It paused for a little while, "Something strange is happening, and it's beginning to threaten my operation.  
Now, I'm not so stupid as to trifle with a Son of Sparda, that's where most of our kind goes wrong. The fools have good reason, but lack the intelligence and firepower.  
So, here's what I propose. You fix something for me, and I'll be willing to help you out, anything that you ask."

Vergil raised an eyebrow, "Anything?"

"Anything."

The man thought about it, it was such a random occurrence. Why now? He at least could admire it's brains, it might be even smarter than Mundus.  
Perhaps it had to do with Lucia, her mysterious reappearance, her condition. So many mysteries to unfold, perhaps it would be a smart choice to play the demon's game.

"Answer my questions first, _then_ we'll see if I can help you." Vergil told him.

The demon sighed, "Very well, ask away. I grant you three."

"First thing, have you ever seen that woman before?" He pointed, eyes made of steel, hissing, " _I'll know if you're lying._ "

The goat looked over at the red-head resting on the couch.  
It shrugged, looking at him with an honest lack of knowledge.

"I see. What is your relation to Mundus?"

It chuckled a bit, "Haha, my boy, I'm the former adviser to his unholiness, before your time."

There was a period of silence, Vergil hadn't expected that response, could he really trust this thing?  
Desperate times, he supposed. The goat's eyes were glaringly obvious, hidden behind a critical red sheen. It's pointy chin didn't inspire much confidence.  
Vergil knew though, it was old, far older than he, maybe even older than Mundus. Was that possible? Next and last question.

"Alright. . . Whose charge are you under?" The slayer finally spoke.

"None, I'm a 'free agent,' so to speak. Satisfied?" It told him.

Damn it, he could sense the creature was telling the truth, it's chemical releases remained flat. He was out of questions too, knowing a bastard like this, that would probably count as the compensation.  
So it had come to this, discussing business with a nordic beast, a creature older than this very world. Though he despised it, Vergil knew this monster wouldn't take no for an answer.

Damn it!

". . . Yes." He muttered, "I'll help you."

The beast smiled, it's teeth horrid and stained black.

" _Good._ I'm pleased with your professionalism." It remarked on his attitude.

"Mhmm. . ." He grumbled, "So what seems to be the 'problem?'"

"I sensed someone trying to _invade_ me, steal my power a few days back. They were aided by two-headed wolves. I knew right then that he was somehow connected to the surviving Son of Sparda."

Two headed wolf? His memory went back to his fight against the savior.  
Wolves were among some of the creatures he saw there. . . Summoned to stop him.

"Why? What do the wolves have to do with Sparda?"

The demon looked slack-jawed for a second.

"You're serious? The wolves were part of Sparda's guard, his legions. After his exile from the demon world, the wolves were one of the few creatures to stand with him."

Vergil's eyes opened further and he leaned in, seeking more.

"Ah, I take it Sparda chose not to share that aspect of his history."

"You guessed correctly." The slayer responded through gritted teeth, then relaxed, "Are you saying my father is still alive?"

"Oh no, no." It said, "Make no mistake, your father _is_ long gone, but his forces remain here on Earth, tethered to all that he was."

This was getting convoluted.

"So, what does that mean? Someone _else_ has been controlling them? There's no one with that kind of power, that purity." Vergil was trying to make sense of it.

"That's precisely the dilemma, my dear- erhm, associate." The creature explained, " _Who is_ controlling them? Why have they abandoned Sparda's will?"

Ah, so now it was making sense.

"Dogs _are_ loyal friends, no matter how filthy they are. So, that's the situation. Make of it what you will. . ." The demon motioned off to the side, not caring.

"You were wise to come to me, Manah. An issue like this should be handled by next of kin. I'll need additional details, some provisions as well. What method of contact do you prefer?"

"No need, I'll be assisting you directly." The beast told him.

Wait what?

"Really? How do you expect to help me when your face looks as though a man beat it with a shovel?"

Manah grinned before sliding his hand over his face, and in the blink of an eye, his head metamorphosed a human visage.  
Black, swept back hair accompanied by red eyes and slightly pale skin replaced an image of ancient hell.

"My appearance is more appealing now, I suppose?" He laughed, before getting back to business, "I know it's not perfect, some things remain demonic. Like my eyes, the eyes are still red aren't they?"

"They are still red, yes." Vergil quickly said.

"Damn it!" He hissed, waving his hand in front his face again, there was no change.

He asked again calmly, "What about now?"

"Still red." Vergil told him.

"Confounded. . . One moment," He said as it unexpectedly scratched off the plates of its eyes, forcing them to regenerate, "Any difference?"

"Um, no." The slayer said, unmoved.

The demon gave up, throwing out his left wrist and shrugging, "Ah well, tasks for later."

Out of nowhere Manah stared at him with an unknown observation. It was as if something was behind him, or that he was looking at something on the side of his head.  
Was he looking at something over his shoulder? There was nothing behind him except a bookcase, full of different little trinkets and books that weren't of any importance.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Vergil asked.

Manah passed it off and looked away.

"What do you know about the wolfs bite?" He questioned the beast, unsure he would answer.

Manah shook his head, "Wolves don't carry poisons. I assume you're speaking of your foreign friend over there?"

Vergil nodded, "Her scent gives it away."

"Indeed. I sense a blood curse flowing through her veins. Perhaps it can be lifted by taking something from them. . . Do some black magic, yeah?"

The slayer sighed, "So, she's sleeping beauty, huh? What kind of black magic?"

The demon smirked an egotistical eye, "Oh, we'll find just the thing. I've a good mind which procession to apply."

"Hmph, what are your powers beyond brokering?"

"I can make individuals confess their darkest secrets, slip crazy thoughts into their brains and destroy them slowly, schizophrenic suggestion, that sort of thing."

The morning band was passing swiftly. That early dew was drying out, spreading thin.  
Under the damned rays of the sun, this demon was in plain sight. Did he walk over here? No, of course not, he's conspicuous as a human already.  
Would this work? The stability is fragile, he was dead-sure he couldn't trust it, but. . . It's knowledgable, it could be useful to him.

"So, by reputation, I gather you're the one they call 'Lucifer's son.'"

The mention of the nickname made the creature agitated.

"Please, Lucifer is old hat. I don't associate anymore, though I can't control what humans call me. It used to be Beelzebub, or the Morning Star, that one stuck for a long time.  
Either way it doesn't matter, that was then, this is now. The threat to our world's fundamental mechanics supersedes all alignments. Do we have a deal, Vergil?"

" _Our_ world?" The slayer refused that connection, "This is the realm of humanity, you can't be serious."

"Yes. _Our_ world. Though I may dwell in darkness, I assure you my place is within this dominion, I am the devil you know and I like the way things are right now."

In exchange for this classical Fiend's help, he had to assist him, skulking about in search of a shadowy figure. Just like always.  
There was a bitter silence between them, each knowing the situation was not ideal. Manah didn't like working with those he felt beneath him.  
Despite his status as a son of Sparda, the Arch Devil was displeased at the boy's age, and worse still, his stab-ridden reputation.

He might hinder them more than aid, but still. There was a viable bargain here. Both sought to protect the human to differing degrees and for differing reasons.

"So. . . Do we have a deal?"

"Yes. We have a deal, Manah." Vergil replied.

"Fantastic." The demon commented cheerfully, "So, when do we start?"

"Uh. . . Dante!?" Patty called from upstairs.

Before Vergil had a chance to do something, Manah responded, "Hello child, I'm a new partner at this firm."

Patty opened the door and ran out, "Who are you?"

"Oh. . . I have _so many_ names." He winked at her, "Just call me Manah, it'll be easier."

"Patty, get back upstairs." Vergil interfered.

"Relax, halfling," It told him, "It's not like I eat children, er-. . . Anymore."

He gazed back at the demon, baring frosty eyes that could kill on the spot.

"I might've agreed to this deal but let's get one thing clear," He faced the demon, "One slip-up, just _one_ reason to believe you might hurt Patty, and I'll make sure your deals end. . . Permanently."

His voice was laced with a corrosive venom, sweltering an indomitable rage beneath. The demon knew Vergil wasn't playing around. Manah didn't care.

"Understood." He said, not exactly losing the sarcasm, "'Boss.'"

* * *

. . .

* * *

The house had become aware of itself, of the history that echoed within these molded walls. Somewhere within, merged into the torture, were images of soft flowers.

Yet, inside they felt stagnant, just as a river that lost it's current. And so one day, after time unmeasured, the house opened each door and window.

The house shivered again but in a different way. This time, there was a small fragment of warmth, a tiny brave smile in the walls.  
There were days that old place shut every door, every aperture, darkly shrunken from the world at large, hoping to be invisible.  
Yet, as seasons changed, as Earth circled Sun, the doors and windows opened all the more. They say that the hatred blew right out of that house.  
Just a little at a time, not much at first, but eventually, eons worth of rage was let go, set free. The nature that house craved entered bit by bit, brick by brick - the birdsong, the blossom and the sunshine.

Gone was the burning throne.

* * *

. . .

* * *

 **There at the dawn, the house changed, and so too did the times**

* * *

A shout rolled across the valley, announcing the start of what those brooding clouds had promised. The tree boughs swayed in the gust's mighty grip, surrendering their autumn leaves without fight.  
Then came the first drops of rain, trickling ever so slowly, then growing to pounding tears, like bullets to a tin rooftop and then peeked through closed shutters to the vegetable patches beyond.  
Outside was dark, the dense water vapor blocking out the morning light, casting us in premature twilight. Round the bend, the home was darker, almost pitch-black inside, but it didn't matter much.  
They could see out just fine. On the far hill, a jagged bolt of white-hot lightening splits the chilly sky, and then it's gone. A man felt himself dying ever so slowly.

He felt his friend place something cold on his forehead.

The touch of the other world came slowly, growing upon him like leprous scabs.

"Sparda?" He whispered, entranced by the demon's shining aura.

"Don't speak," Sparda replied, his voice both soothing and tortured, "It's over."

"Why did you do that?" A man named Modeus opened his eyes, barely seeing through his blurry sight. A purple coat lay near his bed, it belonged to the man who'd just spoken to him.

"You shouldn't have engaged in a fight in your current state. You were reckless, you know I'm disappointed." Sparda was calm but still sensed the anger within.

"What would've happened to Baul if he killed you?" The dark knight had a good point.

Modeus closed his eyes again and took a breath. . . Flashes of the duel ran through his mind. He could almost feel it still running through his flesh.  
It was the lowest moment, even for him. A sense of recklessness had reduced him to an ill demon, one who needs someone to save them. He lacked the strength his brother did.

"Yes of course, I'm a fool. I am in your debt Sparda. . . Always."

. . .

* * *

Such an inauspicious start for an unforgettable series of memories this house was to witness. Of course, that was before it was left to rot.

So many reasons he felt a sense of duty toward that man's children. . . He wouldn't slack off ever, no matter what happens.

"Sparda!" Modeus whispered.

He remembered it like yesterday.

When this house was his, the first time he departed, the devil had chosen to move along with him, to fight back in the great war, but now it laid abandoned amidst a far larger forest.

After everything that had happened in Fortuna, he could see Lady had followed Vergil. . . He chose not to understand what happened there. He was Dante, but _not really_ Dante!?

Absurd. The children of Sparda were fated to be allies, but somehow, that destiny came undone. Eva was taken before her time, a machination by Mundus.  
Fool, that beast knew not what he'd created, a world fractured by a sibling rivalry; a world with no heroes, no fighter truly strong enough to defeat evil.  
Somehow, Vergil, who'd become stained by a lust for power, defied this fate, turned against those of the devil's beckoning. . . It was all because of one woman.

Yes, one woman kept him anchored here to this moral obligation. He believed it were true, the connection between was something beyond mere companionship.

He chose to meet Sparda's scion on this day, it was due time for an explanation. That is, _if_ the mercurial prince accepted him. The biggest question he demanded an answer for is why. . .  
Why had he wanted to reactivate Temen-ni-gru all those years ago? Why had he forsaken the blood of his mother, the principal's of his father, the love of his brother? Something drove him.

Upon the forest floor laid trees of yesteryear, fallen from storms long forgotten. The seasons here had been harsh, stripping away the bark and the outer layers, yet rendering them all the more beautiful.  
They were almost like driftwood, twisting in patterns that reminded Modeus of seaside waves; even the colour of the moss was kelp-like. They're soft, damp, still his fingers come away dry.  
Modeus tilted his head upward, feeling his hair tumble further down his back. The pines stood several houses tall, reaching toward the golden rays of spring. Yes, spring was the season now, all shined.  
Birdsongs came in lulls and breaks, the silence and the singing strung together well, spreading an improvised melody to the lifestream. A new smile painted itself on his forlorn face.

It's time to meet the boy, now grown to a man.

He started walking back through the thick woods surrounding the city. A piercing howl disturbed this place.

"Again?" He spoke aloud, "I don't believe it."

His bloodshot eyes scoured around, looking within the long grass and throughout the timber trees.

All was silent, a chilled breeze the only company, rustling leaves dancing in the wind. His feet crushed branches and fallen plants.

The sludgy sound of his boots through the thicket were so loud his concentration nearly broke. Turning, he saw a shadow move past a tree, one unnaturally tall.

Scanning carefully, the man looked back over his shoulder, and his eyes met a black mass of fur with eyes of deadly nightshade.  
Two heads, one crimson-eyed, the other pair glowing frosty blue, both mouths dripping globs of drool caused by hunger.

Its attack came fast and almost surprised him, his heart punching his sternum. He was hardly able to summon his blade to block it, the wolf screeching as its claws scratched his chest.

A spray of blood dotted the forest floor, soaking the tree leaves.

The man fell on his back and rolled over his head, reverse-somersaulting to his feet.

He hissed. . . An energy of fire gathered within his breath and it bore at the beast's chest, scorching the mindless thing on the spot.

The creature scampered back, growling. It's been a long time, a fight had eluded him, or rather he evaded fighting. It felt bizarre.  
His brother had been meant the fighter, not himself. However, once again, the wolf returned, braying a dense snarl at his stone face.

It's second head changed, growing brownish colors to it's muzzle and it wired it's jaw closed.

Fog started to escape from the nostrils.

"No!" Modeus whispered, his face betraying his desperation. . . A sense of panic rose.

He could hear more howls approaching him, and by the amount. . . He knew he was surrounded.

He grumbled to himself—the number continued to increase. Where were all these things coming from? He knew he should have left when he had the chance, it just kept getting worse.  
Still he had to put a stop to this, the anarchy would end here. Poor souls, he never wished for this, the fights between them all were born of the malicious deeds of an outsider.  
Who that was remained to be seen, it seemed a serious mystery was indeed present.

Two monsters charged him, the demon threw himself forward beyond the first's claws, ducking with a slash to it's rotten belly.  
It cut open with some force, spilling brown innards as he brought the silver brand into the next one's chest. The edge carved right through.

He chopped the beast in two. More came for him.

Modeus readjusted the grip he had on his sword and his eyes bleached ruby. He parried a claw swipe with an upward swing, sending out sparks, he followed with more flames.  
An inferno erupted from his throat, burning one to cinders completely and charring the next few in a shotgun blast. He was liberal with the aim, sparing no angle.

Their dark blood flowed. . . The soil consumed it, drawing the corrupt essence to it's fertile hollow. Shrieks once more, Modeus used a different spell, this time levitating a tree trunk.  
He twisted his wrist and the log spun around, close-lining another dog far off into the night as it went for a lunge to the back of his neck. He then took aim and rapid-released.  
The wooden beam flew forward like a razor spear, jutting on like an over-sized bullet. The massive javelin tore through a multitude of beasts, a cavalcade of murder blasting through.

"You poor dogs. . ." He mumbled to himself, ". . . How did you end up this way?"

He closed his palms and placed a finger to his mouth.

A number of wolves arrived, hunting the source of the destruction, they never took kindly to deaths of the pack. Some took charge, racing forth at him, but a shield of disturbed earth formed around him.  
Inside the broken loam walls, the man started chanting words, a black speech known to all creatures of the night. He could hear the twisted beasts, once his brethren, clawing at the outside of his defense.

"Come forth, Chimera." He yelled.

Through the flames outside came a creature, a lion's body on it's front, a goat's horned-head above the lion's wound into its forehead, a black mane surrounded and a dragon's hind legs. . .  
A snake made up the creature's tail and two draconic wings adorned the creature's brown fur, it's wild animal eyes looked for blood, meat.

The amalgam-beast jumped to life, forcing the wolves back one by one. The savages were trying to tear each other apart.

"I'm sorry. . ." He whispered as the walls around him crawled back into the earth. A strange scene unfolded, two-headed beasts vying to destroy the greek demon he'd summoned.

It was overwhelmed, the feral carnivores ganging up around his aide with their caustic fangs born. He clasped his blade and charged onward, heading into an uncertain battle.

* * *

 **. . . Soon, the destruction was over, words were written under the cover of moonlight. . .**

* * *

There was absolute stillness, consuming everyone's spirit. No breeze stirred the creatures that lived in this land. Rain began.

Water dripped, flowed. Any sounds were drowned out, be it those close at hand or in the far distance from the human-world creatures.

Even his own breath seemed to die as soon as it left his mouth. It was an eerie tranquility, so instead of being soothed, his demonic senses heightened.  
His spirit was bent and there was blood on his hands. It was as if the world outside were encased in a cocoon, a bubble, and there wasn't any way out.

"The more I'm down, the less I understand. . ." Modeus was quiet, all in this fight had perished, including a small part of himself. No choice now, he had to venture back to the city and finally meet Vergil.

. . .

Nighttime stretched ahead as long as the road he'd traveled in the daylight hours, now charcoal-hued and cold.

The birds were silenced, no-one walked the streets, the only serenade being the ever present rumble from the tanks that crumbled the highway to dark and dusty fragments.  
He wanted to go there earlier but there've been certain things he wished to check on before the conference. It took him long before he was ready to walk on.

The neon sign flickered ever so often, the letter C at least.

He went over the steps and knocked on the door. At first there was silence before he heard an acknowledgement, "Come in."

He opened the entrance slowly, creeping his head through to see a gothic office. It was gorgeous, especially that chandelier, that was new, different from last time.  
There sat a white-haired man in his chair, the incomparable ghost of a man he once revered so highly. The man was staring blankly at him, those eyes. . . So familiar. They sent a shiver down his spine.  
He walked through, taking care to close the door gently inside, and he noted Vergil's look was one of resentment and general hatred.

"Well?" Vergil asked him, remembering him vaguely as the man who'd appeared with Lady on Fortuna.

"At last, I meet you son of Sparda." He spoke before taking a seat.

"Who are you?" Vergil questioned, "Why were you there that day?"

"Ah yes, forgive me, we didn't have the proper introduction at that time. My name is Modeus, I'm your father's pupil."

Vergil rested his head on his fist for a moment. Remembering the time he 'met' him, back in Fortuna, "Are you also here to make me a deal?"

"No." He said flatly, "For now, I would to merely talk with you."

Vergil chortled, "I'm not one for conversation."

"Understandable." Modeus replied.

He noticed a red head laid out on a couch alongside two briefcases. A man's coat that smelled of someone besides Vergil was hanging on the rack.  
A small child made her way downstairs, a blonde whom Modeus recognized from her scent, she'd been near Lady before the Savior's brief rebirth.

"Hey Dante, I'm getting hungry, when's Tony getting back with takeout- Oh! Another visitor?" Patty was growing hungry, but she didn't forget courtesy, "Would you like some tea?"

"Ah, no thanks, dear." He said with a bright smile, merely waving a hello to her.

She returned his greeting then grabbed a snack from the counter to hold her over.  
Taking her leave, she fled upstairs to continue playing a card game she'd found in Dante's study.

Returning to the reason he'd come here, "If you need help with anything, please do not hesitate to seek me. I want to be by your side, to honor the memory of your father."

"Hmph, all the best memories are hers. . ." Vergil replied, referring to his mother, "What do you know about the wolves?"

"I know for certain they're not how they used to be, someone has changed their nature. . . Today, I ran into a large pack of them. They tried to feed from me."

Vergil couldn't hide his surprise, " A pack? . . . Well, that's not good." He pointed at the sleeping woman on the couch, "I found her hanging from a street lamp, she has a wolf bite on her collar bone."

Modeus' eyes flared and he went over to the woman, kneeling down beside her to check the wound he spoke of. He could sense her life, it still spoke strongly.  
But, she was certainly fading, a blood curse of some kind, not one that forces the victim to be a wolf themselves, but. . . Something else. . . Something. . . Sinister.  
He gazed back at Vergil and froze for a moment.

It was the same damned look he'd gotten from his new 'partner,' earlier.

"Why are people staring at my face today? Do I have a parasite or something?" Vergil grumbled, annoyed.

Modeus took a breath and looked away, "My apologies."

He regulated his breathing, returning his attention to victim, "Please, allow me to join you for the time-being. I have to investigate."

Vergil smirked, "Yeah, okay. I'll round everyone up."

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

 **(LxJ Note Here)**

 **Thank you for reading everyone, I hope you had fun with this. :)**

 **This was definitely fun to work on. The possibilities to expand the world and make it more interesting are endless. . .at least to me.**

 **It works perfect for the storyline development.**

 **What do you guys think?**

* * *

 **Beta Reader Here: Hey there, here's some more production notes.**

 **I'll just let you know this chapter was a pleasure to make, the whole thing fell together seamlessly. Far easier than it's predecessor by a long shot.  
A lot of cool plot developments happened, mainly because Lilian wished to expand the nature of her DMC universe to beyond the usual scope you'd find in the games.  
There's also an introduction of magic here, as in potent, actual demonic magic. I added that, I often feel whenever anyone adds magic to a series it's lame.  
This is because the author just hints at it or the magic is low-level, so I figured that I would try to spare the story this and make the magic something a little more potent, tangible.  
**

 **Also, yes, Manah is a definite OC, and a very morally ambiguous character. You'll see more of him as Season 2 goes on.**

 **Song inspirations were, as follows:**

 ** _Heritage_ by Opeth | Loneliness _Remains_ by Paradise Lost | _Revolution Is My Name_ by Pantera | _Double The Pain_ by Heaven  & Hell /  
** ** _The Killing Road_ by Megadeth | _Seafrost_ by Cave In | _Sweet Sacrifice_ by Evanescence (this one was LxJ's) | _Cornerstone_ by Cities Last Broadcast /  
** ** _Room a Thousand Years Wide_ by Soundgarden | _Symptoms_ by Haji's Kitchen | _Dragonfly_ by Dust For Life | _Far Away_ by Jose Gonsalez /**

 **And finally, _Bridge Of Sighs_ by Robin Trower.**

 **Lots o' music I recommend. That's all for now.**


	20. Chapter 20 One More Nightmare

**Here is another update. :)**

 **Thank you so much for the +10k views**

 **Chapter 20 ~ One More Nightmare**

* * *

Lady suddenly opened her eyes and quickly sat up.

She found herself in the comfortable bed of an apartment with her weapons sitting safely next to her nightstand. There was a bad atmosphere in the room, it was stuffy.  
Looking around, she was feeling oddly vulnerable. It was for a moment that she felt unsafe, wondering where she was until there was a sigh of confirmation. It was her own apartment.

She couldn't remember getting home last night.

"Ah! You're awake! How're you feeling?" A young man's gasp of surprise rung in her ear and a familiar person appeared before her.

At a glance, he looked like he was wearing fine cloths, just some black slacks with a button up shirt.

He looked like someone who spent the night here.

A touching look of deep surprise was expressed by him, but still, this abrupt situation worried her. A feeling of dread engulfed her within seconds.

Did she have a one night stand? Was she that wasted last night? She thought about it for a moment. . . Trying to recall what had happened yesterday.

* * *

She rested her hand on the rough paintwork that coats the door and pushed it open.

Wooden splinters cut into her palm but don't draw blood; shards of black paint crumble to the floor. The hinges squeal as though they're a warning, but the plea was silenced by a wall of noise.  
Laughter overpowers the jukebox. Conversations swirl in a dirty cloud of smoke, the stagnant stench of cigarettes hiding within the collaboration of beer aromas.  
A sharp smell of alcohol wafts towards her, like black plumes billowing from the windows of a burning house. There's even a hint of vomit tainting the fragrance of the room.

"Wrong day, isn't it? Why'd ya come to Schmitty's tonight?" Josh asked her.

She didn't answer back, just went for the counter and took a seat, "Give me a hard drink. . . Now."

"Sure thing." The bartender said and grabbed a glass for her.

. . .

* * *

Staring at the young man, Lady took a closer look and unconsciously let one thing out of her chest.

"No. . . Please tell me we didn't. . . " She groggily spoke to herself, implying the question as she rubbed her eyes.

Josh's smile faded. The young man put his hand on Lady's forehead and relaxed soon after.  
Good, so her fever hadn't returned though still her temperature was above the normal range.

With a relieved sigh, he spoke, "Thank god; your temperature's almost back to normal. You scared me half to death last night when you collapsed, thought it was liver failure or something.  
Are you okay? Tell me if you're feeling off anywhere, I'll drive you to the hospital. You pick weird days to go drinking, I didn't expect to see you there. Come to think of it, never mind then."

Lady woodenly shook her head. She stared off into space, vacant for a moment.

"Wait a sec Josh, tell me what happened."

"Oh, last night? Well. . . We bumped into each other at the bar, I joined you for a drink and we talked a bit there." He paused for a moment.

Hesitantly, he told her, "Suddenly, you were- um, you-. . . You were crying. You started talking about Dante, how he said he'd come there with you and have some good times."

Lady sat up on the bed, hand clutching her face. The sheets fell away and she saw her clothes still remained on her. Memories slowly returned themselves.

"Yeah, I think I know now." She commented.

Josh sat on the chair next to the bed, concerned. The two of them weren't exactly close friends but still, it worried him to see her like this.

"Did you lose someone recently? I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't ask. I promise nothing happened." He muttered, "I just brought you back here to make sure you were okay."

Lady gazed back at him, "Thank you Josh. I needed that. I owe you another drink."

"Needed what?" He asked.

"Someone to care." She said.

Josh smiled back at her, "Of course."

He reached out and touched her shoulder. She felt a bit guilty, there was a possibility she was leading him on.  
She didn't feel that way about anyone right now and. . .

No.

Now wasn't the time for her to be near anyone.

Silence fell.

"Are you okay now?" He asked again.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." She said and got up out of bed.

Josh left the chair and looked at her one last time, "Have a good day, feel free to stop by the diner anytime."

He bowed slightly and waved goodbye. Oh brother, this wasn't good.

She knew what he was thinking, it was just obvious in the way he carried himself, the way he spoke to her. Once the door was closed, Lady let out a sigh of relief.  
Some fine mess this was, what a god damn joke. She would be fine for now, but god damn her drinking. That was the worst idea she had, now _this_ little situation was brewing.  
Guess she'll figure out something, but right now she supposed she'd grab a shower and wash her clothes.

. . .

* * *

 **"Yeah right." He was back to teasing again, "The last couple of days, you brought me nothing but shitty beers from the dollar store. When I get back, just give me a good job."**

 **"I see you're still cold!" She shook her head, "I'll find something good as a welcoming."**

* * *

. . .

She couldn't help but to laugh at the memory of their last conversation. The bastard never let up to the very end.  
Tears won't bring back the dead and she was sure he wouldn't want her to fall into a deep depression, of course, he was always happy.

Dante had a knack for cutting out emotional bullshit.

With a sad smirk, she went for the bathroom to wash up. Time to start a new day.

She wore her usual poncho over her cloths, the weather seemed to be growing cold again, a bit temperamental. A little out of season this time of year.

The very moment she reached the street, her phone rang.

"Hello?" She sighed.

Loud screams burst through from the other side. She winced and moved the phone away.  
Through the screams she managed to make out distorted, garbled words. It was speech, she knew that.

" _What the hell_?" She shouted to herself.

After a moment, the sounds turned to eerie static and she heard the words loud and clear.

"Help us! Wolves-"

"I'm on it. Where are you?" She automatically answered, the memory of her own attack fresh in her mind again.

The caller yelled their location for her.

"Stay alive, I'll be there." She closed the phone and darted for her motorcycle.

Wolves. Of course. Could they be like the one she'd seen that day?

Lady heard howling in the distant winds, far away from her current location. So she turned the key and burnt off gasoline as her bike roared forward.  
She left black skid marks, zooming in and out between cars as she raced towards her client, weapons ready. Something seemed off about the city.  
She hadn't noticed it at first because she was going too fast.

Along the way, she started to realize what she was looking at; corpses of the innocent locals hung by their entrails from street lamps, sometimes impaled.

It was just a few, but enough of a macabre sight to convince the others to flee. In fact, the streets were pretty dead right now.

Must be a big group of wolves.

She had this intense dread in the pit of her stomach, like the same blue and red eyes were staring back at her through the carnage as she saw more and more the streets were torn up and damaged.  
Death hung heavy, a number of souls all hellbound strewn about the city roads, mocking her with their still-fresh faces. Each one stared out with a frozen look of horror, screaming at her to turn back.  
All the brave soldiers that couldn't grow any older were asking after her, wondering why she wouldn't listen to their warnings.

Some thirty people had been killed, and she'd be the one to stop that number from rising.

Lady threw caution to the wind, racing as fast as she could with her cherry bike.

Coming to an intersection near the local Westfield mall, she saw a black figure towering over a defenseless woman protecting a small boy behind her.

The figure had black fur and slender ears reaching four inches off it's primary head. The face was twisted by fury.  
The other head was smaller than the one she'd seen before, growing out of it's neck like a growth rather than being fully formed.

Blue and red eyes, just the same. . .

"Is this a damn invasion? Holy hell!" She yelled as she drew her pistol and fired a shot into it's eye, "Hey!"

The creature looked at her, roaring with rage.

"Get out of here!" She screamed through her open helmet.

She picked up speed and the two fled the scene, going the way she had come to them. It was the best shot she'd have at taking one of these beast's down.

Leaping off her motorcycle, the unmanned piece of metal crashed into the chest cavity of the particularly large brute. She flipped back onto her feet, staggering on a bit.  
A searing surge of heat escaped the gas tank, boiling up the pressure into a massive explosion against the beast's putrefying flesh.  
Through the fire and the flames, she saw the dogman emerge, torn up, and her tail pipe was lodged through the blue-eyed head off the side.

That second skull was barely intact, looking as if it were mostly hacked off, leaving the metal fragment of her bike woven mainly through the meat of its thick neck.

As it came for her, growling and broad-chested, the lady opened fire with both her pistols, pumping out lead shot after lead shot.

Coming up from the ashes, its hardened brawn was weakened somewhat, though still the bullets did not stop it's crawl forward.  
She shot out an open sore on its knee, forcing the beast to the ground. She saw a piece of wood debris on the car hood nearby.

Dashing forward, Lady jammed the wood beam into its remaining mouth, driving the spike out the back of its skull.

Returning her attention forward, there were a pack of wolves suddenly emerged from behind cars and out of buildings and subway tunnels, all racing to meet her flesh.

Jumping atop an abandoned Chrysler beside the remains of her vehicle, another werewolf saw her actions with those crimson eyes.  
It howled to the sky, and all wolves for miles felt a sense of murder, one of their brethren laid dead. Rage welled up, an onslaught of creatures came for her.  
Demonic canines of all flavors made a straight line for her. Great. There were at least 7 predators nearest to her that had emerged initially, coupled with the eighth she'd killed.  
More were coming, it sounded like a sonic boom of howls. She realized a grave error on her part. She looked around for someway out.

She darted into a building off to the side, running as fast as she could as the sounds of claws dragging concrete and stifled growls came for her.

Others ran in the streets, survivors whom the dogs had let go after they were called upon to kill the familiar Lady.  
The stairs were an arduous task but there wasn't any time for an elevator.

She was in the mall and it was abandoned with its windows smashed. They'd already been in here.

She kept running, even as she saw one beast gallop beside her, the two separated by only a balcony-style gap as most mall second floors are.  
Growling, it leapt off the metal railing and rose high through the air to try and close the distance between them. She rolled forward into a slide as its arm smashed a vacant, blood-stained shop door.  
Twisting around, she fired off one shot from Kalina Ann, the rocket aimed at it's head. An explosion engulfed the creature into molten doom, tearing it apart in just the right combination.

Quickly swinging the weapon to another pinpoint, she blasted out one more shell at a werewolf that had managed to leap for her from below.

A force of agent orange crushed it back into the ground, grinding it through the white tiles as it's slower brethren began to get closer.

More running, she bolted through the doors outside to a bridge that led her into a parking lot. She hopped over the side and managed to grasp a stairwell.  
Pulling up fairly easily, she defied her muscles plea to stop and indentured up the stairs further. The ghouls kept up their chase, dogging her endlessly.

Eventually, she reached the top, nowhere to go now. She made a break for it anyway to the edge. All that was down there was an elevated railway, roughly even with floor two.

She was on floor four. They'd attacked it earlier, a train had been derailed and left there unattended.

She turned back to see the pack had caught up with her, slowly surrounding her, encircling like normal wolves would a deer.

There must've been a gathered amount of at least sixty, but behind these dark creatures, a stranger emerged.  
Of course, he wasn't that much of a stranger, to her horror, she recognized him very much.

Because that person was the alter ego of her father. . . Jester. His demented glare graced her eyes once more.

So much twisted hostility in those black beads mixed with, worst of all, lust. He was a disgusting monster that needed euthanizing.

Right now, he was in a bizarre, extreme state of being, looking as if someone had severely damaged his body, yet at the same time, he seemed to be stronger.

There was a raw power coming from him even she could feel.  
His body was covered with black-tinged maroon blood stains.

She didn't know whether that was his own blood or the blood of others splattered on him, it was hard to tell because of the wounds that dotted his body.

Around him, there were a trio of human heads floating, two of them missing eyes. He rode atop a black horse, its mane made of orange flames.

The wolves paused their attack, they all stared at her father and that dark mount he was riding, as if they were waiting for his cue.

"You!" She exclaimed, terrified.

"Yes. . . Me!" He replied, "It's _always_ me."

"How did you do this!?" She screamed at him, demanding answers.

"You've been a naughty girl, Mary. Very naughty indeed, I'm going to have to give you a _spanking_." He grinned, that wriggling tongue making an appearance once more, "I have to make up for last time."

She backed away, only to be reminded of her dead end.  
Out of nowhere, all the wolves turned and their eyes burned her soul.

Lady took a stance, ready to defend herself. It was do or die. These bitches are tough. . .

Both the monster's she'd blown up with the bazooka had somehow picked themselves up, scrabbling over charred, falling apart practically.

"You can't have me!" She yelled, "You can't-"

She was struggling to find more words.

Jester raised one finger, that red nail sticking up crooked, "Make it good." He warned.

'Damn it, this is how it ends?' She thought to herself.

"You're sick. You think this'll bring you glory? I _killed you!_ I'm not above doing it again." She said, raising her black M1911.

He laughed his head off.

"Oh dear, darling! You've really gone and done it now. . . I've gotten all excited. Take her." His words slithered out like old grease from a fryer.

Without hesitation, the demon-wolves lunged on her. She was prey, their gullets requiring tender flesh and red blood.

She raised her other weapon but her reflexes weren't faster than a canine's, they were built to be quick and agile.

Lady believed this was her doom. To be torn apart at the hands of father. They grew so close, closer and closer as time stopped, her life flying before her eyes.  
A red, soothing light flickered inside, she could see it through the darkness of her soul. It was like a burning bush of flames, feeling all-encompassing like her mother's hug.  
Then, this crimson light burst out from her body, taking the shape of a shield. Those that hadn't been vaulted back by the force of eruption were repelled by the radiance.  
Their claws broke apart, the hands splintering into photons that shimmered up like fireflies. The light protected her.

The dogs whimpered and wheezed, whining like an ordinary dog at the loss of their limbs.

Jester growled and forced them to try again, one hurled itself into the shield, its entire body colliding.

It too suffered the same fate, breaking apart into plasmatic ions that dispersed across the sky.

She looked at her hands in disbelief, beholden to the otherworldly glow emerging from her.

In a rage, her father launched a torrent of black gusts at her, trying to wear the shield down as more wolves came for her.  
She felt a surge pull her backwards, but she refused to let it down, finding the shield was one with her will. More anthropic dogs lost their limbs.  
Switching strategies, the clown ceased the dark torrents.

Numerous illusion blades collided with her shield, the wolves falling back. These golden daggers were comparable to Vergil's summoned swords.  
Where had he attained this power!? The shield was growing weaker and weaker, it seemed it would soon dissipate if he kept this up. She had to find another solution again.

Lady was squinting her eyes, struggling to maintain the field.

The question of what this was would have to come later, for now it was serving her needs well enough.

The light seemingly focused out from Charlotte's necklace, and it indeed saved her for a moment.

No time to wonder more, she felt the shield crack under pressure, and a blade sliced clean through her shoulder during a diagonal rotation.  
She stopped for a moment to take her breath, sweat trickled down her forehead as time slowed. She felt blood flow from her right shoulder.

The blowback sent her back into the ledge, and she saw the train again over the border.

Well, only one way out of here now.

Glancing once more back at her father, their hate-filled eyes locked glares, and then, she jumped.

Heaving herself over the side, Jester didn't expect it, yelling out " _No!_ "

He zipped to the edge, off his steed. Planting his purple feet onto the concrete. He looked over the thick barrier and saw nothing. She was gone.

He smashed both his fists on the barrier, bellowing to the heavens that she'd somehow escaped from him again. How!?  
She had that infernal death machine strapped to her back all the time, that had to weigh a ton, how does she just _disappear!?_

" _Fan out! I want her found!_ " He raged to his wounded legion, Arkham's voice shifting in control.

As they departed from the rooftop, they began to lunge from structure to structure, looking in a panicked, disorderly fashion. He _will_ find her, it was only a matter of time.

Down below, Lady laid on her back inside the train car, crashed through the window. Though there were pieces of glass stuck in her, she'd landed on a pile of dead humans.  
It unnerved her, the fact that her survival came from their deaths. She felt a potential sprain in her left ankle but she could still move. Falling like that sucks, especially when lacking proper equipment.

What's going on? These creatures were supposed to be Sparda's protectors for humanity, why had they emerged so evil? Why were they helping Arkham?  
That giant man in Fortuna. . . That night. She knew it was connected to her, to the tower in some way. . . Her father was back, as established, only now. . .

He had company.

According to Modeus, they could only follow Sparda. At least, that's what they believed, but Modeus practiced under Sparda, _knew_ him.

He's more than some historian like the rest of them, if anyone could get it right, it was him. And now this, how would she escape?

The wolves would smell her soon enough, zero in on her presence.

The sense of creeping death was etched into her chest, it didn't matter how crafty she might be.

And that strange light. . . That power was impressive to her lowly human-self, but she knew it wasn't anywhere strong enough to defeat her father, whose power was exercised effortlessly.  
She didn't even know what it was or if she could call upon it again. She tried again laying there, just for the hell of it. Nothing happened. She tried it out again, focusing, but nothing would come.  
That power was gone. She stayed there, realizing her smell was masked by the stench of the dead. She chose to move out of the way of the open window though, just in case.

There wasn't anything more though, the sounds were gone, and so she opened the door to the car, emerging from the slanted train bruised.

While the half she exited was still attached to the train above, the other end was on the ground below, having smashed the pavement.

It had been one of many to grind along the parking lot's ground floor entrance, the rest were all inside, having bashed through support pillars.

Like that, the wolves were gone.

She wandered around, looking at the public devastation, so much property damage had been done to this city. She saw others waking from the cars, grievously injured in the crash.

Lady spent the rest of the morning looking around, working with the locals to uncover more details, corroborating other reports.

According to a number of people, a few days ago, ever since she'd returned home from the island, the attacks had never ceased.  
The attacks were frequent, ruthless. They'd been occurring at night mostly, this was the first happen during the day.  
It was to the point people were becoming too afraid to walk outside, either staying in perennial groups and/or carrying some kind of a weapon to protect themselves.

Usually the wolves kill a few people, leaving their bodies as grisly displays.  
Today marked the first time they'd destroyed parts of the city on a wider scale.

It wasn't so bad as to warrant military intervention, but worse enough to create panic. Panic creates paranoia, paranoia breeds distrust, and distrust destroys humanity.

Some thirty four victims were found across the city, always the same motif. The cops were out in force, time to hide.

Unfortunately, she had to do this alone. She wasn't ready to face Vergil again.

Maybe she could find Modeus somehow, warn him about what's happening before her father takes it too far. She trusted him.  
He could certainly look at this more constructively, he had the means, the understanding, the strength and the knowledge to combat that clown.

For now, she needed to track down Arkham somehow, even though she knew it was fruitless.

If demons didn't want to be found, they would remain unseen. But she wouldn't give into this fact, she needed to end him for good this time. He had done enough damage.

And then there was this pendant, the power she'd drawn out from herself. She tried again for the next several hours during a down minute every so often.

Nothing though. So bizarre, she knew she was controlling it somehow.

After things had 'calmed down' as much as they could, she started heading for the park where she first laid eyes on him.

He might be there. He _had_ to be.

On her way there, she could sense the atmosphere was corrupt.

It was obvious in everyone's eyes, they're all afraid, trying to live their lives out like everything's normal. Nothing's normal.  
Nothing would be normal for a long, long time. Death was around every corner, in every shadow. Could you trust your neighbor?

Where did the wolves go? It was plausible they were just human's in disguise, or at least that's what their fear drove them to believe.

It was amazing what people could convince themselves was real if it so suited there spiritual belief.

She changed directions, heading for the bus stops. She made her choice to leave back to the source, to the very beginning of the attacks.  
The source of the wolves, as they were first seen, lay off inland somewhere, far out of town. She'd find it, she knew. The skies were moody.

The past several days had shaken her confidence, and left her disheartened, bored with life.

So, working this investigation right now was a great exercise in mourning her own way, to avoid sitting around doing nothing.

She knew Dante would do just the same, so in his honor, she'll finish this troubling mission one way or another.

* * *

 **"Don't get in trouble without inviting me, got it?" . . . Yeah, I got it.**

* * *

With a solemn smile, she started moving for her destination. . . Time to do her job. It is, after all, what she lives for.

The whole ordeal was at once both exciting and confusing, "Here, I'm in trouble." She said, addressing Dante, "Wonder what I'll do."

Lady was supposed to be back downtown for another client. She'd have this coming night to assure them she'll take care of it and discuss her payment.  
A girl's gotta eat. She brushed off the fog in her mind, but her mouth was so full of lies. The thoughts of the future never once left her mind, so she kept her eyes closed.

She kept praying, waiting on. She was waiting for a day that she knew would never come.

She just wanted warmth, searching forever lost forever more, the sunshine never comes.

That was what her depression felt like, this horrible agony that assured nothing would ever get better, so she just hid inside herself, crawled back in to have her time another day.  
Being stranded in a tiny inn at the outskirts of town inside the inn's pub, which looked like it hadn't been decorated since Sparda's era, was not her idea of enjoyment before a job.  
She should laugh it off and have fun, like a certain crazy friend she had. Used to have.

Indeed, the place looked old from medieval time, around the 13th century, she arbitrarily supposed.

Stories about this place were told: Sparda came to these parts and gathered the humans living at the time, protecting them from the dangers of demons.  
That was such a distant time ago, supposedly over a thousand years. He kept living here from then on, somewhere close by.  
All the humans built a shrine for him as a memento, some considering Sparda to be the Christian god come down in the form of a devil, to test their judgment.

And so they worshipped him, like those of Fortuna. Of course, he didn't take to the fanatics.

Lately, these days rumors had spread around of a demonic figure residing inside the shrine, forcing those who enter to do his bidding. . .

No one knows the task exactly, but this entity apparently doesn't appear to those who are not 'worthy,' whatever that means.

Interesting place to be indeed. She could maybe enter the shrine herself, just to see if he was real.  
Why was it always a 'he' anyway? Female demons get no respect in legends. . . Separate Worlds?

Not so much.

After speaking to the owner, a bit short and broad man in his seventies, she was kindly given a small room on the first floor which clearly hadn't been slept in for some time.  
Still, at least it was sanitary, they kept it clean all these years and it did make her feel comfortable to lay there. The window view was beautiful, she can see the green land in the other side.

She took a moment to rest there and make sure of her artillery.

Once Lady walked out, she joined the other guests at the bar, everyone was nice and friendly, treating her well. She felt herself having a good time, despite everything. Coming to this place wasn't a bad idea after all.

She had a fine, enjoyable special to eat, it was halibut fished from a nearby river. The cook in the back was a gracious fellow, unlike the one she was used to in her usual places.

With food now finished, she sat in a cozy armchair by an old looking fireplace, deciding to kill the pain and boredom she felt by going out for a few pints of local beer and a bottle of wine.

The flames crackled around before her, and as the evening drew in and the numbing of alcohol took effect, she actually was almost glad to spend time here...maybe make it a habit and return for an actual vacation without weapons or anything.

This area of town may have been somewhat bleak, but against the cold winds outside and darkening earth, the inn was not without charm.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there, lost in her own thoughts as she was by the heat from under the mantelpiece and a few glasses of red merlot.  
She was joined by another guest at the inn, didn't exactly realize it at first. He sat across from her on the other side of the fireplace.  
He sat there gazing at nothing in particular.

The man appeared to be relatively young, probably in his early twenties, but he offered up a vibe of loneliness and strange guilt.  
Mixed with fragility, one would normally not expect to see these qualities in a man of his age. He just seemed. . . Lost. Alone.

Trying to be friendly wasn't her best strong suit.

For some reason, she could feel something odd about him, some kind of an aura that unsettled her.

Her intuition nagged her too much.

"Why are you looking at me like that!?" She heard the words but didn't register them until they were repeated.

"Excuse me, why are you looking at me like that? Do I look like the boogeyman to you?" The man addressed her in a sharp manner.

She was taken aback by the realization that she had been staring at him for several minutes, that wasn't polite of her to do . . . it's just feeling in her gut about him.

"No. It's not like that." She answered apologetic, "I-uh. . . I thought you looked like someone I know."

As he turned to face her, he displayed in his expression a look of annoyance at her obvious lie. It's so typical, it isn't the first time this happened to him.  
Yet his face softened. He saw her empty glasses and the bottle, it all made _some_ sense.

"I apologize if I was short with you," He said. "It's just that I'm sick and tired of people fearing me around here. I'm normal like anyone else. I'm just unlucky."

He raised his voice at the end of his sentence and cast a wide eye around the pub to the few people still around.

She sensed that those people wished to avoid him as much as possible, make him walk away and never come back. They are afraid of him. Like he is some kind of a boogeyman.  
Both Lady and the man stayed and had small talk for a couple of minutes. His name was Sam Horton and he was a former businessman from a company for techs, back in the middle of the city.  
He claimed to be on a vacation down here, far away from the crowded noises, but she instantly rooted out that he wasn't anywhere close to comfortable talking with her.

Why!? Was she socially awkward to him or his troubles stopped him?

In fact, he quickly changed the focus of the conversation to her entirely; why _she_ was there, where _she_ lived, anything about _her_.

It was as if he needed their conversation to continue in an obvious, failed attempt to keep his mind distracted from a hidden fear. Ever so often he would look around to make sure no one was watching him.

Each time, she attempted to ask a question about what really bugged him, he would either provide vague answers of something simple, obvious lies, or he would ignore them altogether.

"Look, sir, my job is to take care of anything strange and abnormal. Why don't you tell me what happened? You seem shaken. Are. . . Are the wolves after you?"

" _Shhh!_ " He hissed at her, ironically drawing attention. He kept silent at first, looking deep in her eyes. Should he tell her?

"Okay, I'm gonna tell you something I saw a day ago, at least."

* * *

... .

* * *

Finally, the conversation was over. She found herself being the one trying to carry it and keep the focus going.

For a moment they sat in silence, the only sounds coming from a few locals propping up the bar with their loud chatters.

Some of them were couples who started to have a little too much fun with each other. They should've gotten a room.

The pub was now noticeably dimmer, with most of the light being provided by a few small overhead lamps, and the fire continued to crackle and flicker all evening.

She turned to one of the windows outside, seeing nothing but darkness and clouds at first. The light of candles reflected off certain spots around the place.  
The light started to appear from the houses and stores nearby. It was getting late.

Then she just spoke to him, "Why would people be afraid of you, Sam?" She had to know, it could be connected to what she is looking for.

There was a long pause as she looked at him while awaiting an answer. His gaze fell to the floor, but his face silently shouted horrible fear.  
It seems to her, he did not want to remember what happened to him, like it's something unbelievable, all the chattering of the other inn mates eating him alive.

"They all know, but they don't have the courage to be kind and offer me some help." Turning to the few fellow locals still in the pub he then shouted, "They're all afraid of him! He threatened them all."

"What are you hiding? I can help." Lady insisted to him that she was capable, "Who is this person who threatened them?"

* * *

. . .

Shirking off the shivers of a wandering mind and laughing to himself for being so easily affected by this place, the rumors got to him good, there wasn't a doubt about it.

But he would be the brave man who took the chance to visit this shrine where dark demonic magic took place, he would be the one to solve this mystery.  
For a hill, he chose not to question, to his eyes that place was the darkest hell he'd ever known, worse than any board room he was confined to, worse than any injury he'd ever had.  
He wanted to prove to the people that there wasn't anything here, all his desires point to silencing them once and for all.

Sam's gaze had finally fallen upon the oddly decorated front entrance of the shrine.

Reaching out, he ran his fingers over the rough edges of the circular handle and he opened the door.

Inside he saw a figure in a tan cloak sitting in front of candles.

"Those who walk where they do not belong shall face the consequences." The man whispered, an eerie chill swaying up his spine, "You shall listen to me if you value your life."

. . .

* * *

"The man had this deep voice. . . I saw his hands, they were white like a twisted ghost." Sam paused slightly. "Because of him, I lost sleep, he forced me to help him release the wolves or I'd be killed."

Lady thought about it for a moment, a tan cloak?

She'd seen people of the order wearing tan cloaks.

Why had they not subsided?

Who was this person inside, were they still loyal to the order?

Sam stared at her confused.

"Thank you, I'll see to this issue." She waved goodbye and left, determined to reach inside the shrine and pull out it's secrets to the light of day.

* * *

She walked out of that old building, it's hallowed bricks ringing with a presence of unity, safety. She started heading to this so-called shrine, it wasn't far from where she was.  
From the grassy roadsides, it looks like nothing. There's just weary double doors painted a fading brown. They were closed, which meant nothing to her; each door had some outlandish decoration.

This entrance wore bullet holes through it, that's not good. Maybe the natives had tried to defend themselves against whoever was here.

People around were looking at her symptomatically, strangely, all wondering what her ragged sort were doing in town. Some of them even approached her,

"Please, don't go in there."

"Walk away, save yourself."

But she went ahead anyway, though she chose not to storm in like an amateur soldier. She went in slow, silent.

The air inside felt not of this Earth. She couldn't put her finger on why for a moment. Casting her flashlight around, she saw dusty church chairs moved slightly from their original plots.  
The floor left impressions from where they'd set previously and the dust helped shape a trail of motion, perhaps thanks to the weather's return to the frigid kind.

In front of the altar, there was a statue of Sparda. Cobwebs had been gathering around it.

"What happened here?" She wondered. This place supposedly had been abandoned for only a few days.

Nonetheless, no one was there now. This place was completely empty.

Still, her gut warned her of something here. . . Though she was not exactly sure what that was.

After a second of wondering, Charlotte's necklace started glowing again, no, reacting. It cast light out in front of her, illuminating her way far more effectively.

"Hm." She allowed the necklace to lead her to wherever it wanted.

. . .

* * *

 **Back to the city, the red soul listens to cacophonous squabbling, wondering when these foul demons will stop their nonsense. . .**

* * *

"I've no knowledge of this, my apologies." Modeus sighed, "I know not why she still lays asleep, I've tried all my invocations."

Manah came forward and stopped him, "Hold it, Sparda-flop, I was here first, _I_ will work to reverse this."

"You're only doing this for your own goals, Manah."

Manah shrugged, "Of course I am, does anyone think I'm not?"

Other's in the room didn't disagree. Manah chose not to hide it. It built trust in a weird sense.

Modeus shook his head and continued the conversation,

"I find it extremely abnormal that they're still around, even _after_ the savior was defeated." He took a breath.

Thinking hard, the man addressed Vergil, "Did you see _any_ thing out of the ordinary in Fortuna, something that stood out to you as bizarre?"

Vergil gave it some thought but still his mind couldn't conjure anything.  
He wasn't exactly in the best mental shape during his time there either.

"No, I have nothing beyond fighting a giant stone statue." He sighed.

Patty came over to the desk and placed two tea cups for them, "Have some tea, maybe it'll help you concentrate."

"Thank you miss Lowell." Modeus gave her a gentle smile in response.

"Your welcome." She replied and returned to the couch where Tony sat reading. Manah was about to speak to her when Vergil cleared his throat.

The demon gazed back at him. Vergil pointed at his eyes and then pointed back at him. . . Gesturing that he was watching like a hawk.

"I know," He winked back at him, "I merely wanted a cup of tea myself, young day-tripper."

"I had to deal with a giant horde of them in the forest out of town, where my old house still stands." Modeus continued, ignoring Manah.

Either he was targeted, or they are gathering out there, preparing for something.

The more Vergil heard about this, the more his anxiety grew. This could turn into another apocalypse for this poor city.  
Or, maybe he was just paranoid they'd insist on tackling the problem the hard way. He was a fan of efficiency, not piety.

"I'll go out and check the last place they attacked." Vergil said. "I got a call detailing information about an attack downtown; lots of victims and a derailed train."

Modeus voiced sympathy, "That's unfortunate. I'll find my brother and return to you when I know something to help your friend."

With that he stood up, adjusted his coat, and walked out.

. . .

The warmth of the sun's bronze light was swallowed by the red black horizon. A half sunny day engulfed in overcast darkness.

A beautiful darkness. A darkness where laughter lines illuminate and seem to turn from creaks to craters as a being smiled at the scintillating moon.  
Somebody somewhere knew, even if they had no idea. The primary stage of this night was to come soon, an old enemy resurfaced to face a man not knowing where to be.

Patty near him, trying to make him laugh. It almost worked.

Tony was sitting on a chair counting the money he'd obtained. They'd need to launder it of course, but there's nothing like a little bit of mad money lying around.  
He lit a cigarette, using a candle Vergil had bought as an ash tray. That was meant to be a lavender-scented candle for incense purposes, now it was 'liquid crap.'

Vergil restrained himself from killing the poor idiot thanks to the small girl. He reminded himself of the money.

Modeus left them an hour or so ago with the promise to return for a cure to the ginger woman's ails.

"You have to stay here Patty. . . Just for a couple of minutes." Vergil said, and placed Dante's amulet around her neck, "You should be fine. Lock the door."

Patty stared at the jewel for a moment, amused by it's beauty.

"Don't be back too soon." She said casually, but he could hear the anxiety in her voice.

"Yeah, okay. It won't take long, I need to go look at something nearby." He replied and tapped her shoulders. Dante's signature smile appeared on his face, and so she was assured.

"Don't open the door to anyone but me." He continued.

"Yeah, even if he comes back with two dead guys and a hooker." Tony said sarcastically.

That attitude was something Vergil couldn't quite erase.

"Okay." She said softly and closed the front door, locking it behind them immediately.

Manah was in front of them, whistling as he walked slowly along the side walk.

"So, where to?" He asked, glancing back at him.

"To Kingsland street, that's quite a bit of walk ahead." He remarked and the two strode onwards.

Somewhere in the distance an owl sounded off, awakening the nocturnal nature of all those that dwell where they dwell. The lustrous, dancing stars glinted in the sky, brightening evermore.  
Vergil felt there was no such thing as darkness, merely a space without light, as long as the moon iridescently shines and the stars gleam above it, there's never complete darkness.

Besides, this is nothing compared to the demon world.

* * *

To **Be Continued**. . **.**

* * *

 **LxJ Note**

 **Thank you for reading everyone :) Will, things are heating up nicely.**

 **Stay tuned for more. It's going to take awhile until chapter 21.**

 **Is it wrong of me to ask for a review? I'm sorry, it's just I miss reading thoughts and sharing my opinion and my own take on them.**

 **Nonetheless, it's fine. I'm absolutely sure I have so many readers.**

 **I want to add another song to the list." Ashes by Endway." It is a bit of a strange song but still helped me.**

 **...See you later, in the next update...**

* * *

 **Yo, Angel Wolf here, figured I'd dispense the formalities and just write a straight up note, HOW ARE YOU ALL?**  
 **Oh it feels really good to be back writing this, I broke my hand and that just delayed everything, so a lot of my frustration went into my progress here.**  
 **So the narrative goal of this chapter is just to introduce the season-long plot. We disagree on length, I feel this universe has a viable length to it.**  
 **There might be a season 3, dunno yet, I hope so though. Still too early to say.**

 **Anyone who missed it, check out Soldier Of One, which is a prequel one-shot me and LxJ did.**  
 **Just a nice little something that goes as a special companion piece to this chapter in particular.**

 **Music used was:**

 ** _Here C_ _omes Revenge_ by Metallica | _The Day That Never Comes_ by Metallica | _Voice of The Soul_ by Death | _Daylight Again_ (Again) by CSN | _God Complex_ by The Enigma TNG/**  
 ** _Battery_ by Metallica | _The Devil Cried_ by Black Sabbath | _Thunder Soft Rain_ \- Mother Nature Sound FX | _Human Beings_ by Seal | _Primal Concrete Sledge_ by Pantera/**  
 ** _And There Will Your Heart Be Also_ by Fields of the Nephilim | _Give the Mule What He Wants_ by Queens of the Stone Age | and _Harvester of Sorrow_ (Again) by Metallica/**

 **That's everything, see ya later.**


	21. Chapter 21 Witchtripper

**It's still the same chapter, only Vergil and Lady scene is changed.**

 **..Note at the end..**

 **Chapter 21 ~ Witchtripper**

* * *

It was humans they saw, or what they had been. All the bodies had been ripped apart and sewn together again, with most of its segments either missing or twisted around.  
The faces had all been blackened as if left in a furnace. There was an eye gleaming at him, and the ladder of a spine, the vertebrae stripped of muscle; a few unrecognizable fragments of anatomy.  
That was it. That such a thing might live beggared reason—what little flesh it owned was hopelessly corrupted, molded to the nature of evil.

Yet live it did.

Its eye, despite the rot it was rooted in, scanned her every inch, up and down.

"What the hell is that?" Vergil demanded.

Manah was stern, knowing who had done this was still out there, he just watched the failed hybrid twitch around.

"Poor soul . . . " He muttered before impaling it with his clawed fist, ending its bleak existence.

They were in a plane plot of wasteland behind the railway tracks running out of Waterloo Station. The pavilion inside stood unfettered by damage.  
The two wooden gates hung open, and from the other side of the road, they could see a security shed with a window and beyond it the tottering piles of dead-broken cars.  
Everything of value had been stripped away and only their rusting carcasses remained, heaped one on top of the other, waiting to be fed into the crusher.

"This is a complete mess." Vergil commented, "There's not even that many dead."

In the midst of their probe, Vergil heard a familiar laughter.

"Devil boy, devil boy! What am I going to do with you? . . . Perhaps this!" The very moment the voice finished that sentence, the two felt the temperature rise and the ground beneath them shake.

Something was about to erupt.

"What!?" Manah bellowed.

The clown lunged at them from nowhere. Vergil fired off a sonic slash with Yamato, simultaneously leaping for the fence that bordered the mall. Still, he felt flames crush his back.  
An explosion of white-hot gas burst from the ground, the displacement of fiery air shoving him in the direction he'd jumped, hard. Everything moved too fast to separate, to understand chronologically.  
His body buckling, blasting against the wall, the wall dissolving; the entire world blotted out in shades of stroking white and then into different colors of confetti.

He rolled sideways into the parking lot, bricks and black top biting into his shoulders, the horrific smells of flash-fried meat and burning hair washed over him.  
Shards of blackened glass peppered the abandoned lot. Vergil rose to his feet, ignoring all of it as he spun around, ready to tear apart and murder the bastard right here.

Still, he couldn't understand what in the actual hell happened. Since when could Arkham do that?

He blinked his heavy eyes, clearing them, but for some reason, his vision remained blurry. He grabbed his forehead as a splitting pain overcame him.

"Boy?" He heard Manah's voice calling to him, "Boy!"

" _I'm fine_! Where is that bastard!?" He roared.

Spreading arms apart, Vergil brought metal gauntlets together with a sonic clap, releasing a surge of air. The wind blew away the smoke to an empty hole in the ground.

"No idea, he just vanished in a blur, but . . . Now I'm so interested."

The slayer could tell from the devil's voice that it had a new obsession. Maybe they could get an answer out of that clown after all.  
After a moment, the pain vanished, and he could see clearly again. Manah emerged by his side from a shadow in the ground and they stood back to back, looking for the bastard.  
From the corner of his eyes, Vergil made out a lone figure limping away. Limping . . . So, that tactic hurt to use? The closer he looked, the more he realized.

It was just a normal guy. Jester had all but disappeared as soon as he'd attacked.

"Geh, just another victim." He pointed out, his horned ally subsequently seeing the man as well, "He must know something, I can sense his fear."

"So, you want to see for yourself?" Manah wondered aloud, "Follow me."

He flashed away into a void of darkness. Reappearing ahead of him, the robust demon stopped this young man.  
Eyes widened, breaths ragged and harsh, his hands trembled at their resting grounds and he jammed his fist into his mouth to stifle the scream.

" _Hello . . ._ Let's be _friends_." Manah's face reverted to its true visage.

The human fell on his back, watching the beast approaching him, hoping his death would be fast.

He mumbled at first, jittering like a stick in the wind, but, after a panic-charged instant, he was able to form a loose sentence.

"P-Please . . . Make it fast."

No hope.

Vergil arrived, zipping over in a red blur just above the ground. His silver eyes looked so alien, shining rage as he turned back to the man.  
The two demons exchanged looks before they knelt down to him. No sense in murdering information.

"Don't be absurd, your death would mean nothing. Just tell us what happened." Vergil commanded.

The man laid his head back, stretching his neck as he took a loud breath. He heard a sound in his mind.  
A sound of metal, a low rumbling that just carried on and on. The drone urged him to look back at them.

Without a question he followed the order and looked at the duo. Vergil had a bemused look on his face all while Manah smirked.

The man couldn't keep his eyes away from the stranger in a suit, his face transformed back to a human's.

"Come on, you can tell me, I'm looking out for you. _What did you see?_ " Manah pushed his voice to a trill, asking again, "What did you _truly_ see?"

"I-I'm-. . ." The man stuttered. He could sense a strong pressure on his tongue, as if someone forced him to drink glacial waters.

"I saw a clown, or maybe he was a Harlequin, I- It was hard to tell. He was a psychopath. He had the blackest eyes I've ever seen, moving with a pack of-. . . Of werewolves by his sides.  
He talked about a gathering for the big finale. Look, I know it sounds insane but- I tried to run away, but I got hurt. I think i popped a rib and my hip feels dislocated. It all happened so fast."

Once the man realized what he'd just said, he covered his mouth, surprised.

Somehow, he'd spoken without willing himself to, it was hard to describe the feeling, as if someone else had spoken for him.  
But that wasn't right either, he knew it was himself talking, he just hadn't been intending to speak at all. The confused citizen looked at them.

"Your cooperation is appreciated." Vergil said, staring at Manah as they started walking away, leaving him behind.

There wasn't any doubt, it had to be that maggot. Arkham had come to command the wolves, but how? He should've been dead.

That man should be lying in a grave in the sky, the gates of hell had spit him out somehow.

Lady.

She had been here, his head perked up and turned on its own to a train car that had been derailed.  
It was barely obscured by the smell of death, but it was there . . . She was there, or had been. Yes she was gone now.

Other's might have missed it, unable to distinguish, but he knew her.

He always knew her.

He had to find Lady. It'd been a little while now, he knew she wouldn't want to see him but . . . He had to check on her. Something drove him to see the woman.

"A clown. Who would've imagined, a mere clown dares to try and invade me." Manah paused for a moment, thinking about it.

Vergil had stopped to stare at the accident.

"Sight-seeing?" The demon looked genuinely concerned, staring at him just like he had earlier in the office, when he didn't answer, "Boy."

Vergil's eyes glared at him, festering red fury, "Call me that again."

"Relax boy, we must continue searching. That clown can't be far away."

What he sensed that day . . .

'No, there must more to it.' He thought.

Vergil turned and looked back, "Can you track down individuals?"

Manah stared silently.

The beast knew what would be asked of him before the words even left the boy's mouth, there was just a feeling in the air.

"Yes . . . In a way." He replied.

"We need to find someone right away," Vergil said flatly, "A woman from Sparda's witch, Charlotte's bloodline."

"Of course," He gloated, "A simple task."

* * *

. . .

* * *

The town's square was a mass of confusion and motion, but he knew the one direction he had to go: Lady.  
No matter what it took, he'd find her, unless he came across Jester again and stopped him in his tracks. The thought of that fool clenched over his fists.  
His fingers dug into his palms, grinding through the glove's fabric into his flesh. Drops of blood trailed him through the mob of people.

"This way." Manah pointed at the right path.

Vergil spun on his heels, dashing around fearful humans trying to run away and find a safe place. The street was packed with stupidity, most people found shelter in their own homes.  
Too bad there were too many people blocking their way. He fled toward the other side of the street, rushing after Manah into a back alleyway. He saw the brute leap up the side of the building to the roof.  
Vergil followed suit, sprinting up the side of the building after him to an empty rooftop. Off to the side, they saw a group of humans making shelter out of the flat summit.

The Cambion sensed a new heat ascend around him followed once more with a sudden burst of fire. The explosion spit him out into the side of a building on the other avenue.

Again, just what had happened in the lot. His body hung on a rebar impaled through his spleen. A horde of dark things emerged around his associate.  
The old guard, demons of the ilk the night Jester stormed his front door, and had failed. So, the fool still held control over these mongrels . . . The enemy was powerful.

But what of that fire?

Manah growled, closing his eyes. A black aura seethed out from him, "What an absolute waste of time."

His voice grew thick and spiteful. The devil's body began vibrating in surges, bat wings then sprouted from sin's back. The flesh of his human face tore itself apart to reveal the beast under the surface.  
That twisted visage emerged, it's goat horns sharpening. The mane of hair thickened as his muscle fibers expanded, his form flexing to a state of pure hate, his power held no functional limits.

The dark master came unglued.

He hissed an ugly curse that made those creatures that hung around howl for mercy. Vergil grunted, lifting his head to see the scene unfold . . . It was interesting, no doubt.

Manah took a breath, and like a dragon in stories, he burned the place, unleashing the flames of cremation to all the creatures foolish enough to test him.

In one second, every cretin turned to ash, breaking apart to nothing in an instant. They were unmistakably annihilated.  
Jester's original cronies still followed his will, off to their deaths. Was that even possible, to command two legions at once?

This was becoming contrived, his blood boiled.

Through the ashes, Manah returned to human form, huffing out a sigh. It was like someone just told him he should wash the dishes.

"They're such a bother. . ." He dusted his suit lazily, then shouted, "Are you alright over there?"

"Damn it! . . . I'm fine." The slayer raged at the beast, "Those explosions are testing my patience . . ."

"So, shall we keep going? Or, are you going to keep sulking in that crater?"

"Tch, don't push me." He said as he forced himself off the bar, using his vantage point to leap for the other side. He landed with a roll.

Taking a quick breath, he straightened up as he dusted off his coat.  
The blood blended in, no need to cleanse it yet. Perhaps when it turned brown.

"We may be forced to work together, but don't think I'll tolerate disrespect lying down." The slayer told him, "You're a strange beast, not sure if I should be amused or bored."

"Be pleasantly surprised: I haven't ripped out your spinal cord yet." The beast replied.

Silence fell.

"You know I don't fear you." The slayer told him.

"I know, and you know I don't fear you either." The mule's retort was impressive, "Swallow your pride as I have mine. Weren't we tracking this woman of yours?"

He gritted his teeth, it was so enraging getting thrashed about like this.  
Fine, if this demon would undermine his professionalism, he would return the favor.

". . . She's an acquaintance."

"Hehehe, sure she is . . . The woman you seek still smells far from here. She's gone away, almost like she's left town." His tone felt agitated.

"You can sense it too. She's still in town somewhere." Vergil replied, "This county is large, she could be anywhere on the outskirts."

"I don't know what this is that I've been feeling, but I'm no breadfan. It has a touch of evil to it." Manah spoke while his eyes watched everything around them.

They slid down the building after witnessing the streets clear. Good, no sickly humans to meddle.

Landing was an easy task, now they walked on. Walking was a simple but arduous time-wasting activity.

They sped it up a bit, racing through the roads where her scent still remained.

Vergil came to a stop, looking on ahead to a dark wolf plodding towards them. Razor talons five inches long grew from the claws on it's left hand.  
The slayer blurred, fading in and out as he outgunned the carnivore's lunge at the last second. Flinching, he hurled six swirling blades in a sapphire salvo.  
They blocked it's way just as he dove frantically to the right, wielding Yamato.

A barrage of savage waves cut through it's flesh, lopping off limbs like a child crushing ants.

The beast let out a fiendish shriek, baying at the sky. It dropped to the ground, hyperventilating, flopping about limbless like a fish out of water.

"That direction." Manah pointed in the distance.

His partner saw where they should go next, a dusty road that led off to a back highway, tortured reds above the sunset.

Vergil regained his footing, scanning around himself wildly. More wolves had risen above the rooftops of the houses, looking for their next prey.  
His presence was alarming to them. They stopped, wondering on him as if he were somehow a leader. Why? Why had they stopped?

" ** _What are you staring at!?_** " He barked, his face losing humanity, " **I'm here, _come to me!_** "

Their faces looked tortured, but they complied to his demands, leaping for him.  
In one flash, he removed Yamato and released a shuddering plasma-wave.  
Returning the katana to its sheath, the beast's all ceased motion, eyes blankly staring.

He dragged the weapon in till an inch of the blade remained exposed, then, he shunted the handle inside to a loud click.

All the dog's fell to bits, turned into quivering cubes of jelly. The man at the center felt a strain on his chest.  
He had yet to exercise his abilities in that way, the unfiltered release of his body's strength was a little much.

Damn, how long would it take for him to get used to being normal again? Still, at least he was able to keep going, the strain would fade away soon enough.

Manah was impressed by the display, almost to where he didn't realize what it was.

The slayer had to match the Devil's own show.

"Damn it, what are you doing?" He said, "Don't go around overcompensating, you'll end up dead."

"That was just to let you know who's still chief," Vergil replied loudly, "Don't go getting ahead of yourself believing you have the leverage."

The brute growled, leaping from his far vantage to land beside the son of Sparda.  
He had a look in his eyes that told a story of turmoil, of what this volatile boy was doing to get on his nerves.

"I have more than you think, boy." He glowered at the silver mercenary, "We should keep scouting for her, lest more of these poor animals come to our feet."

Vergil grumbled, the two at an impasse. After exchanging violent stares, Vergil ignored him, going back to the current predicament.

"You don't think . . . Is this all really _just_ him alone who's commanding the wolves?" The slayer had to ask.

There was a long silence that stood in the way of his answer.

Eventually, the satyr snorted to himself, granting the request.

"No," He paused, "Something is wrong. This is _all wrong_." His gruff voice was filled with enervated anger.

* * *

 **. . . Darkness renewed, the flames of chaos were rising once more, inside an umber hollow . . .**

* * *

Staring blankly at the young man, Lady took a closer look and saw in his hand a ceremonial knife. Unconsciously, she drew her guns.  
Holding him at gun point, he initially played fearful but soon realized this was an exercise in futility. He ceased acting and revealed the true face beneath.

His face grew yokai tusks out of his lower canines, building out and curving towards Lady.

One horn poked out the left side of its forehead and a partial red tint emerged on it's skin.

"So, you're the demon who's been terrorizing the locals?" She spoke to him cold.

The creature smiled meekly. Some random but brave human threatening him, he didn't exactly experience this on a regular basis.  
She looked strained, as if the sight of its face terrified her to her very core. . . Yes, that must be the reason, it could think of no other.

"Relax, human." It spoke while shifting down to a sitting position. The thing was slumped in the corner of the place, staring out from the dim mess.

Its voice was ashy, sounded deeply tired.

The demon was injured viciously, covered in bloody gashes across its front.

With a worn, bothered sigh, it spoke, "My name is Brad; I mean you no harm."

She raised an eyebrow.

" _Braaad?_ " She said, dragging out the syllable in disbelief.

"Yes, I rather like the name," He said quietly, his appearance restoring its humanity, "It fits this face rather nicely."

"Uh-huh. . ." She said, keeping her pistol trained, "Why are you here?"

"Answer's easy: I've been forced to be here by someone else. Not sure who or why yet - I had no choice but to remain here so he wouldn't kill my wife."

Wife?

She slightly lowered her weapon, though kept it's barrel trained, still unsure of trusting him.

"What does _that_ mean?" She asked, "Demon's don't have wives."

The man smiled a bit.

"I've seen that face before, you won't believe how much. I might be a demon but I have a normal life with her . . . Until the master attacked me. For her safety I endured the injuries."

Lady woodenly shook her head. She stared off into ceiling, for a moment.  
This was bizarre, almost lunacy. A demon. Married.

A married demon.

"So was it a lovely wedding in the black pit?" She quipped.

"Of course not, she's a human. I'd have never wanted us married in Hell." Brad, reached with his hand and showed her the ring on his finger. . .

Lady gritted her teeth and re-centered her aim on him, "I don't believe you! Who's this 'master' of yours?"

She cocked the pistol, prepared to end his life. To her surprise, he didn't show any sign of fear to her.  
He closed his eyes and took a moment to breathe. With his injured hand, he searched through his pocket and took out an old paper photograph.  
He raised his hands and chose to offer the picture.

"Look at this." He said, she walked toward him cautiously.

Keeping the weapon trained, she slowly put out her hand and grabbed the parcel from him.  
Lady examined it carefully, viewing the same man as who stood before her now, holding onto a brunette woman.

With a deep exhale, she lowered her weapon and returned the picture to him.

"I'm sorry. Know anything about what's happened in here?" She knelt down to his level and asked him, "Do you even know what's been going on out there?"

He chuckled, "There's a war going on no man is safe from. The only thing I can tell you is a Jester follows him, they seemed to be seeking something here.  
It seems they've almost gathered everything they need. But for what, I don't know myself. I only came here to protect _her_. They knew this weakness of mine.  
How could I refuse them when they threatened the only thing I fight for?" The man grew depressed by the end of it.

Her father, again?

And mention of a master.

What creature could've crawled from hell?  
Who would be seeking the wolves at all?

"Hurry . . . You've got to leave this place, it's dangerous. You must find Sparda's legacy." He paused for a moment.

Lady shook her head. What kind of bullshit was this? No answers and a dislocation of power.  
Dark devils were prowling around the yard, stalking her movements with a proverbial perversion of truth.

At least this one was nice, somehow.

She took out a flask from her belt. It contained a drink she'd purchased from a reliable underground vendor, made from a plant from the middle east. It was helpful for curing wounds.

"Drink this." She said, noticing the sticky blood still dripping from his wrists.

Hesitantly, he accepted her offer. Indeed, the substance helped him feel better, albeit by a slim margin. Regardless, it wouldn't wash away everything from him.  
In time, his body felt strengthened, and he gained enough energy to will himself to use his magic. Ancient forces gathered at his fingertips and he directed the healing to her.  
It's power permeated her body, fixing small injuries and internal wounds, all her vigor amounted to blue gammas floating in the shell.

He was the mule, the god that reduced her sentence; at least here, the life hadn't become rotten, staying strong against the wailing walls of darkness.

In the end, the light burned for only a minute, but it was a grand time.

"Thank you . . . " He whispered and took her hand, "Let me do something for you in exchange."

"Uh, I thought you just did." She said, but he merely smiled, so she had to ask, "No?"

Brad's face looked a bit more lively than before, "I have the ability to see the future."

"Yeah, yeah, and Santa Claus shot JFK." She responded, disbelieving the claim.

See the future? Now that's too much to bear, regardless of whatever quirky powers demon's could have. Interesting.  
Lady refused to take this seriously anymore. The last few weeks were making her rethink almost all her life. Still, no harm done in trying.

"No, really. I know how it sounds, but you must believe me." He told her.

"Well sure, I mean, everything _else_ impossible has already happened, why not visions of spacetime?"

Her sarcasm triggered a rather sad expression in her company's eyes.

"Jeez, if you're gonna get professionally offended . . . Go ahead." She'd ceased to care about reality, this twisted world's sense of humor.

Lady submitted her hand forward and waited, "Tell me the future. How does it all end, Bradley?"

He corrected her perception, "I can't tell everything, just a chunk. Time doesn't let me see too far in the details, but some things are fixed."

"What, so it's like 'half' the future?" She asked, already feeling dumb for going along with it.

"Mm, somewhat. I won't know if it's far off or close by, it's like an impression more than a true vision."

After a moment of silence, she stared his dark eyes down.

"Tell me then . . . If I-. . . If I push myself, will I kill my father?"

Brad closed his eyes and began mumbling strange words unknown to her. Suddenly, she felt dizzy. It was as if she were falling backwards; the ground sunk alongside herself.

Through the tainted black, she saw a devil's brightness, and with this came a storm of distant echoes, voices speaking. All were spouting their prayers, hawking from their nightmares.  
Sinister gold dotted the frontlines of hate, left unprotected because no one took a stand, so now they withered and grew mischievous.  
She opened her eyes but everything was so, so blurry. Her vision was clouded by the color blood and so she lightly touched her eyes, hoping they would not be mutilated.  
Thankfully, there wasn't any pain, they were fine. She rubbed the corners of her eyes and blinked them shut several times. Eventually, her muddy vision cleared, she saw a crimson sky.

The ground looked to be made of leaves, as if it were a swamp bed. They were tinted brown with rot.

High above, there was something in the sky. She couldn't make it out at first.

Then, it crystallized. It was herself, naked and bruised. There, suspending her body in place, were black tentacles invoked from a void.  
She could hear her own voice screaming hoarse, crying out for eternity. Braying, alone and cold, her loneliness remained.  
Before her, at eye level, she saw her own father mumbling things in greek and latin. He was bowing down before a deity, a great stone man.

It was a ritual of some kind, whatever its reason was, the procession stunk of old magic, the black hatred of an ancient time.

Lady's face, her other self above, it fell faster than a corpse in cement boots.

In the very instant Arkham finished his black ramblings, her hair grayed, her mouth hung with lips barely parted, and her eyes blasted open as wide as they could stretch.

"You served your purpose, my dear Mary." He sneered, "It'll be over in a moment, count backwards from ten."

So far away was the golden sun, her aching chest and blurry sight could not defend against the moors in this state. Flashes of bloodletting and tendons ripping came to her forefront.

Bathed in vermillion luster, all the trappings of the demon realm surrounded and corroded her, choked her.

In all this she couldn't tell which was true and which was dream, so she felt to scream at the top of her lungs, screaming just so she could feel alive again. The thumping wouldn't stop.

Just like that, the scene vanished and she found herself staring at Bradley's eyes. Those innocent eyes.  
She pulled her hand back, her whole self recoiling out of disgust and hatred and fear; all the great hallmarks of damage.

"What the- _What the hell!?_ What I saw . . ." She murmured, at a loss for words, "That can't be real - that cannot be real! . . . Is it? You're playing with my mind!"

Lady heaved a long sigh, hand clutching her face.

It felt like she was sick, sick with that longing agony, and when the time lord unbound her and she was permitted presence tense, she felt all sense flee.  
His eyes stared back at her, belligerent in the mode of knowing; knowing exactly when the now was worth it or not. The things he showed her were harsh.  
He'd been through it, seen all the steeples of the mind, but none were strong, not like a devil's.

Still, she was a tenacious one, so he explained for her.

"This _is_ your future how it stands. I can't change it, but never forget; it's not truly what may come, it can alter and twist."

"Wait, it's not set in stone?" She replied.

"Yes, you don't have to fear what you saw, but you can't forget it. _Don't ever_ forget it." Brad replied, "Time is a hard, confusing mess . . . I wish I knew what to say."

Lady changed her mind within seconds. She was actively wasting time by staying here and talking to this man about the nature of the future.  
Immediately, she straightened up her blazer and dusted herself off, looking around the hollow. It was time to leave before the light would dim.

"Thanks for the information."

It's time to end Arkham.

She'd kill him once and for all.

If she would have to scrounge through the entire city to find that degenerate.  
God must hate them, for all the suffering this web of darkness spun between so many lives, He must despise them.  
The Devil must hate them too, after all, Lady's one of his rejects. Knowing all that about what happens in the end, when they all. . . Die. . .

It must drive Brad insane.

She didn't care.

The destruction she'd witnessed was enough.

* * *

. . .

* * *

Lady snapped the lighter closed at the dirt path going back from the shrine and took a deep breath, trying to psych herself up for whatever came next.  
The road was destitute, things lay scattered across her mind as she focused it all on the imaginary death of one man. She puffed on her cigarette, smoking them only in times of duress.

Like now.

The chill of the dark behind her pressed on her back like an icy hand, yet once more she hesitated, the pistol felt loose beneath her fingers as she slipped the warm lighter into her belt pocket.

She wasn't particularly looking forward to ascending into the unknown, but she had nowhere else to go, not unless she desired to turn a blind eye on current events.

That would be just like waiting till it was her turn to die.

Not going to happen. She wished there was more time. There was only so much a person could understand before the gravestone arrived.  
She took a breath and forced a smile into her face. She rode on her motorcycle and revved up back to the city. This is going to be a long night.

She wondered if she'd survive, the knowing of her fate weighing heavy like brick boots.

The moon was bright tonight, illuminating all that once shined in the day, now silhouettes of change.

Riding along the dirt path, something began to bug her. It was an insistent tug in her stomach, telling her uneasy things as she sped.  
The willowing trees and their mossed bark screamed to her that nature was encircling, choking it's way around her every second.

She heard the sound of someone following her.

A familiar cackle followed by loud howls stung her forehead.

No time to wonder how the horde had found her so quickly. Lady turned right into the avenue and kept speeding. Perfect; he'd come to her.  
She desperately looked around for something she could use to distract it long enough for her to find an advantage, separate that mule from the rest.

A burning fire pushed her to face him alone and finish this strange revival.

She pulled over to the side of the back road in the village. Leaving her motorcycle parked there, Lady began running for a well in the street.  
It was desperate, but she had to hide herself somewhere, and if she left her motorcycle nearby, the creatures would find her too soon. She had to outfox them somehow.  
Improvisation wasn't really a strong suit of hers, that was always left up to Dante.

She managed to reach the sleepy town center and made a beeline for the waterhole. Almost there . . .

The bounty hunter found herself blasted far-forward by an unseen compulsion, arriving at the fence of a house beyond the well.

With a tremendous smash, Lady collided with the wooden barrier and broke through it, rolling into the backyard.  
Groaning as she tossed her left side over, she pulled herself up and got back on her mortal feet, crouched on one knee.

That hurt.

The cause was a stealthy wolf, whose fist had smacked her across the way.

She had no explanation for her continued consciousness, so she drew.

Her grip with the Beretta didn't waver at all.

Lady aimed up and shot the beast that assaulted, one of its maws at arms-length from her head. Red mist painted the fence, she shot again and the beast was done.  
This was no place for a fight, so close to the lives of humans, what would they say if they saw it? Destructive bullets killed the flaw easily, the savage fell cold at the ground.  
One round through both brains; she felt so bad for them, they couldn't be acting on their own desires.

Kicking up to her feet, she felt her chest give out, stumbling forward to grasp it.

After a moment, the air flowed freely again as her lungs expanded. She hadn't really recovered from the blow until now.

Lady spat out a small patch of blood, then cleared her mouth with a red glove.

She readied her armaments.

Diseased with leprosy, a shaggy wolfman barreled toward her, begging death and blood to heal the plague on its flesh through release. That release neared as a cartridge tore an eye apart.  
It stumbled a bit, so the femme fatale took her chance and readied Kalina Ann to be launched, slinging the anti-tank weapon around to stab with the serrated edge, "Let's light up."

Her taunts were legendary. A brilliant glow of orange shook the ground as flames burst out from it's chest, the weapon itself surviving the blast easily.  
Flung backwards, fire latched to the grounds and the fences, Lady's fringe remained intact despite the heat. It was dead at least, but there was no running now.

Wolves of five still living crept upon her to pounce. An Uzi's breath took care of that.

Thrusting the weapon into the dirt path, the bazooka's vents on the side opened.

From them came artillery shells blasting out in streams of nuclear smoke. They swam irregular.

Deliverance of this ash to the masses was swift, the explosions sparking numerous as beast after beast fell.  
This raging downpour of hatred filled the silence so loud, to the point of all else fading away. It felt good.

It was liberating to release that rage.

More came, as they naturally do.

So she put more in the ground, all the missiles a dog's best friend.

Two rounds; at least ten dead this time. She was getting better at this.

This still wasn't the end.

They came to Lady like moths to flame, setting dual eyes on her defined neck. She pulled the trigger again, but her weapon only clicked empty.

Her eyes widened as she cursed herself for being so careless. She hadn't restocked since last time.

She reached for her lower back and rearmed herself with the beretta and the Uzi. She took to use the trees to her advantage. The moonlight gleamed everything an exaggerated blue.  
The small town was rocked by the skirmish. People were surely looking now, wondering where those bright flames had come from. Who would put them out? No human had the courage.  
So long as those beasts still roamed the roads, no man had the bravery to stop their fire.

Darting off to the side, the hunter managed to lunge over the fence, holstering the lesser pistol to climb branches. The dogs came for her, driven mad with corruption.

Lady aimed again, though she a felt a strong slap against her cheek, the force of it threw her far to the middle of the street.

Her mind barely registered what happened.

The blow had come from nothing, from nowhere.

She could feel the flaming wounds in her cheek and her shoulder. Raising her head, right before her stood the buffoon.

"You're done, Mary." Her father seethed a gleeful malice.

Flashes of her future played back in her mind, if she gave up now . . . She would end up in chains, hellbound forever.

She gritted her teeth, clenched her ragged fists.

Not going to happen.

She pulled herself back up and stared at the clown dead in the eyes, showing him she was not afraid.  
Lady looked for her Uzi, that attack had made her drop them behind somewhere. She stared down her father.

Manic depravity met fearsome rage.

With a flick of his pale wrists, the wolves charged toward her again. She watched carefully for the perfect moment.

An ear-piercing screech burst from its mouth as a pack of three catapulted high into the air. Roughly six more rushed at her ground-wise.

She rolled backwards in a somersault, sliding through a pair of parted canine legs. The creatures collided with each other, their target missing.  
In the briefest of moments, Lady could have sworn that she saw the reflection of light come off a claw as they all rushed in.  
At the corner of her eyes, she had earlier spotted her weapons, and so planned accordingly. Demonic howls echoed in the street and Lady cocked her weapons.

Jester watched her with a twisted look of pleasure, there was a darkened object on the asphalt near him.

"Hmmm! You're turning me on, sweet butterfly. Fight harder, it'll be worth it when I catch you and present your vessel to him."

"Shut _up!_ " She yelled as she opened fire.

Head shots were the best bet, but supplies were dwindling. A large brute made the dash, shining those dual eyes.  
The creature spread its arms apart as the claws released forward; this was her chance.

With a scowl, Lady shot up the wolf's face, pumping nine millimeters like a hose, more than once aiming for the eyes. No mercy.

Stumbling over, it almost collapsed right on top of her.

Side-stepping the behemoth, she bid her time till the siamese head laid right at her feet. One boot stomped on its face.  
It hissed almost feline, screaming as she unloaded the last shot in the stem. Dropping out the clip, a quick change was needed.  
She swiped over her belt and used momentum to click the new magazine inside.

Stepping over the corpse, she struck out three Beretta rounds in a blue-eyed skull.

She'd killed one this way, yet felt overwhelmed against the tide of the pack. Not good.

"Murder's not becoming of a lady like you," She heard her father say, "He won't like that. I promised him sweet Mary, not ruthless rage."

"Who are you talking about!?" She finally yelled, frustrated.

Surrounded, it felt like there wasn't any hope.

The wolves were stronger than the monsters she'd faced previously, even if she knew their weaknesses.

Arkham placed a hand in front him and a few pops of orange emerged just as the chain reaction hit ignition.

A massive demolition of fire and embers ruptured into existence. She felt the sting of the heat, left with no time to dodge.

Thrown back, she felt the pain center into her lower lumbar while she hit the ground. Singe marks dotted her pinstripe blazer.  
What was that? Jester's red nails remained buried under smoke, the wind eventually clearing them away.

She wiped off sweat from her forehead and looked up.

She killed so many, but it just wasn't enough.

All manner of wolf bore down on her, stalking closer and closer

. . .

Cobalt blades reigned down on the wolves like a deadly monsoon. Each closest to her came apart like string cheese, falling away.  
Through the air traveled spurts of fire, setting ablaze only the target. So controlled and vicious, the flames burned high, but not wide, avoiding her almost cosmically.  
Jester squinted, more arrived, aided by hellions, the same as that night Lady saw her father alive again. As more came, more fell to the summoned swords.

No need to look, she knew who it was.

Vergil landed on a tiled roof, standing tall above them.

His silver eyes looked crazed, flooding in crimson as he viewed Jester's 'art.' He lifted one hand and indigo orbs surfaced, raging violent air against metaphysical sword strikes.

All father's wolves came undone.

Phasing almost through reality itself, the slayer arced in a blur of vermillion, touching down in front of Lady.

He stood from his knee, smoke smoldering from his hands and feet, standing between them and her. The slayer's face held no remorse for this, no repent.

"Yes. Time for answers, Arkham," He spat the words, "It's time for the clown to suffer."

Arkham shook his head, shifting to his scarred visage. Purple irises glowed back at them. The man lifted one sadistic finger in response.

"One: Rage."

He showed another finger and continued,

"Two: Grief."

The blackened minister glared demented, empty of any emotion beyond simple insanity. Hell rots the mind, so they say.

"You will never win, my dear Mary," The man then pointed at Vergil, "The clock is ticking and your death is near."

The devil grit his teeth as those words,

"Time to kill you again." Vergil drew Yamato and prepared his steel with the kind of rage that begat murder.

Just the mere sight of the man made his fists clench.

"Remember Dante?" He kept going, "Do you have any idea what happened before he took his last breath?"

Vergil felt the pain in his chest return, it was never easy to remember it, but he could survive.

Arkham wouldn't.

"It's all so sad, really. His soul cried for you," The man relished every word, "Your mind is wondering now, I can feel it. What do I want to tell you? What do I know that you couldn't bear."

The moment he finished that sentence a sharp stab ran his shoulder through, a blue brand pierced his flesh.

Both his face strained forward every vain as his shoulders rolled toward them as well.  
Jester's voice let out an elongated scream, the man shifting back to the pale joker as he fell to his knees, groveling "Ah-whoa, easy there, my boy! You could've killed me."

Vergil's face grew sinister, the humanity flushed away.

His voice deepened, becoming ever so gruff as his fists burned.

"Yes, but it's better this way that you live. You can feel the pain a little while longer." He said as he took a step forward.

The harlequin's face twitched, "I'm afraid not today, _Vergil_. I've more important things to do than fawn over one piece of the puzzle."

The slayer looked ready for another beating, but Arkham still remembered the last time.  
Too well, in fact. The sensation of tasting copper in his mouth stuck in his stomach.

"No time for argument-" With no warning, Vergil blasted forward a right hook into the purple comic's nose, sending him flying back into a stationary wolf-man.

"This _isn't_ the tower, fool." The man growled.

The clown struggled to his feet, dusting himself off.

Opening his jaw produced a clicking sound.

That huge snout on his twisted face looked impossibly broken, pulsating purple.

Spitting black fluid to the ground, he countered, "Geh, alright, that attack was fairly impressive. Just for that improvement, I'll leave you with one of my classic raps I know you love _so_ much!"

Oh there was something in him Vergil despised, that was sure.  
Unmitigated by time, unrestricted by any means, this undead fool would make Vergil tear the world apart if it meant destroying this wretched clown.  
The slayer knew it wouldn't end, not here, not yet anyway.

"You rushed in to save a friend so thin, the white horse move with which you cannot win, a clue you'll find among the bones, then meet your doom upon the headstones." He grinned so wildly.

Fog started to gather around them all. Once he spoke the last word, the fog condensed into a thick orb.  
Silence dominated the cold night until the sphere burst unexpectedly, releasing a blinding scarlet before anyone could act.

Both Lady and Vergil watched the wolves vanish with him.

Their chance to end him was gone, ripped away once more.

"I'm sick of this . . ." Lady whispered, face bowed down.

She'd gotten to her feet after the punch.

The flames burned quietly, eating the ground and parts of the trees.

Vergil stayed still, looking out through the darkened views as civilians watched them through the blinds.  
After a moment of reflection, he turned back to face her. It'd been awhile since he heard her voice, but he was glad he had the chance to see her again.  
He felt his gut knot up a little, was this right? Was _any of it_ right? It started to rain again, falling on his head like new emotions.

The fire's died out, suffocating against the rainfall.

She was studying him uncertain, blinking water out of her eyes.

Vergil wanted to say something, anything. He couldn't exactly find the right words.

This silence persisted.

The deluge grew somewhat, soaking the hurt soils with healing for another day.

"Are you alright?" He asked finally.

She stared at him, wondering about those eyes, "I'm fine."

He knew she wasn't, but still, he lightly nodded. They were done now, so he started walking away from her.  
A feeling of loneliness remained, weighing down their world-weary shoulders. He hated it, but this was what she wanted; space.  
Their was a feeling inside him, the desire to protect her above all others. He didn't understand it, he couldn't, not yet.

"I-!" She said, stopping him, "I think . . . I don't think we can handle being around each other yet . . . But . . ."

Her eyes met his eyes.

It still permeated between the two, the damage shared.  
Lady took a few steps closer. His expression was frozen.

Stone-faced, just like she remembered. Yet now he came forward, standing tall. Soft thunder clapped in the distant forest woods, a gentle storm breeze ruffled her hair.

The midnight gales were cool, feeling a nice reprieve from the retching hold of the city heat.

She closed her eyes, her breath shaken. Lady had to tell him, she owed him that much at least. . .

"Thank you."

It was barely more than a murmur, so much so that she wasn't sure if even he heard it. Of course he did.  
She was about to turn away when she heard him reply back that it was okay, his voice so secure.  
His lips opened and those stilted words came, and he made it clear through their briefness that he was both fine and hurt.

He didn't like it at all, feeling abandoned but also feeling some sense of pride wash about him. So faint, the words were like careless whispers.

"I'm glad." That was all he said.

Even when he was wrong, he got his point across. So this was where they fell.

She leaned in toward him, missing the way his cologne smelled, how his spirit reached no limit.

The slayer ran his fingers through his hair, cradling doubt against his chest.  
Resting his hands as the drizzle wept on, the slayer held a bleak look in his eyes.

Eve was naturally an enchanted time of day, either for those who were isolated or those who sought understanding. He acknowledged that much.  
There was a mutual bond that connected her to his mind, he knew it wouldn't ever leave him now. She looked up at him, those wide eyes wondering about his thoughts.  
The silence was cruel, neither knowing what to say now. Vergil felt pain rise from his memory, wondering why again he'd left the bed. But the answer was simple.

He wasn't Dante. He couldn't ever be Dante.

And to think, of all the time in his life, none but one had felt for him the same.  
He squandered that, thinking it beneath his immortal rite. Part of why he hated humanity was people's proclivity to overlook him.  
Why pay attention to him when there's Dante? Dante looked exactly like him, and yet people preferred him of the two.

He looked away, fingers tightening as the thought gripped him. His jaw tightened itself, resentment forming on his throat. Best not to stay too approachable, that was over now.

White horse?

What did that even refer to?

"So . . . d'ya think he meant a demon you were familiar with?" Lady commented, maintaining distance.

Vergil crossed his arms and thought on it seriously. There'd been many, many a beast he'd torn down.

"It's possible."

His mind just couldn't conjure up any image, neither literal nor figurative.

She crossed her arms as well. That was a good reason for him to stop.  
He felt this feeling of bitterness come over him, rising closer to the skin.  
This perennial aggravation ate at him, replacing growth with smoldering decay.

What was so fundamentally unlikable about him? Even before he was taken to hell, before he was subjected to a thirst for power, before any alterations occurred; he was unwanted.

He supposed that was why he always had respect for his own mother.

"Huh . . ." She mused, "I don't know then."

A mother . . . Patty was getting antsy, she didn't know the truth of the matter. Perhaps . . .

"You- You should come back with me." He said under his breath, "Patty would be happy to see you."

Lady avoided his eyes, staring away at the well she'd sought for protection. She thought about it, that child's eyes recalling an adorable innocence.  
Still, she didn't know for how long she'd want to be around. But she saw him; the devil cried. It meant he had some good in his heart at least, not to mention that little girl loves him.  
Unchained hues of cerulean dotted the sky, flickering stars guided her sight to a shooting comet that ran across the dark sky. She felt the stars reminded her of fireflies.

He _did_ save her. Maybe it was time to believe in him.

Still this wouldn't be easy at all to deal with, the fresh pain of realizing Dante had left.  
He'd never return, and she had so much left to say. Clenching her right hand tight. . .

"I'll be there." She mumbled. For her to go there of her own volition was what must be done. Their faces' continually soaked, the rain falling eternal.

His face remained stoic, he knew it would still be a little while longer before she'd come around.

* * *

 **Distractions abroad in the city, two men meet where no man roams.**

* * *

A lone figure shined, his might unmatched by any other rose. The stench of a city's waste rose high no matter where he went.

Sparda fought for this, laid his life down to protect people, people who would so destroy their homes for the sake of comfort.  
Nowhere was where he was, nowhere was where he always ended up going, no matter how hard he tried or how hard he fought, the end result was more nowhere.

His open hands felt the breeze of a storm sweeping in, a small tropical affair.

In the city of disarray, the slayer's blood was everywhere, no grovel he hadn't bled in, no edifice he hadn't filled with physical pain.

That was what he smelled, that was what led him here. The smell of a reckless young soul, grown steadily overtime.

This man was a charm to be sure. He had the right twinkle in his eyes and a voice more warm than sunlight on amber. People usually liked that - smiling back and enjoying an exchange of words.  
He bore that air of power, of total confidence. They would back away; he's so otherworldly. He could tell them up was down and they'd follow him just to hear more of his strange, enchanting words.  
There's something in the way he would look at them too, doing so much more than merely taking in their form, his cold and calculating eyes a galvanizing force.  
In that way his own face started to look almost like a mask, controlled with the purpose of issuing a particular effect. He was sitting on a balcony's edge, giving himself a good, high vantage point.  
He could see the city so clearly, for miles and miles. Biding his time for now . . . The next move was his to make.

His appearance made him easily spotted, even up there in the darkness.

His coat was pure white, trimmed slightly gold, beholden to a gray undershirt and slacks. White and gold boots carried his feet.  
Silver hairs spiked up above tan skin. A nose sharp and angular rested on that concrete face, sculpted like a stone statue come to life.

"Baul!" He heard someone call to him. He didn't bother looking back.

"Mmm . . . _You._ " He grumbled.

Modeus stopped a feet away from him, taking his breath after a marathon search, "Have you sensed it all, the wo-?"

His kin immediately stopped him, correcting the terminology

" _Sparda's guard_. Yes . . . I've been tracking them down. No matter what I do, what I change, they won't bow to my will. You would've imagined Sparda's pupil as worthy."

"Wait, hold on?" Modeus froze in time for a moment, surprised by his words, "A-Are you saying . . . _You are_ the one who unleashed them?"  
A sense of betrayal hid beneath his calm voice.

A smirk grew on Baul's face. With a chuckle he answered, "You've no clue, do you?"  
He faced his brother, a sense of mockery in his speech.

The sibling in black widened his eyes.

"If you really are like our old master, then you must be thinking about what should be done. You _know_ his son must die."

The usually-calmer of the two displayed a change of faces, his teeth grinding themselves together as anger took hold. At least, even to the people who knew him well, he was almost emotionless.  
Yes, this anger was reserved for his brother, whose actions he couldn't at all defend. There wasn't any sympathy, no feeling of sentimental understanding towards him. This was flat out betrayal.

"I will never allow you near him. Sparda's child is more important than you could imagine. I won't ever stand for your moronic ambition, not at the cost of so many. You're dreaming."  
With a quick motion, he clasped a sword from a void, a thick red claymore revealed. Modeus pointed it directly at Baul's head, warning his sibling he wouldn't ever stop defying him.

The demon in white crossed his arms, keeping his back turned.

"I've no desire to fight someone who abandoned the way of the sword. You can't stop me, not as you are today. I _will_ find Vergil and I _will_ kill him."

Modeus almost gasped, lowering his sword slightly, "How did you-. . ."

He alone knew the slayer's true identity, barring a few others in the circle of trust. He chose to keep it secret for the safety of all humans.

Dante's victories shined like a lighthouse to the demons, warding off hostile spirits from preying on the innocent. This fate wasn't natural.

Had Baul been watching them? _Stalking_ them? Why hadn't he attacked them already?

"What have you done?" He asked, distraught.

The juggernaut twitched his hand and bent time and space as he turned to confront his charcoal brother head on. Another instant later, he stood right before Modeus.  
He had phased across territories somehow, batting his twin's flame brand off to the side, reaching out a hand and touching his forehead.  
The brother in black stopped instantly, frozen with a simple touch. Chilled to the bone, he felt his brother's nowhere, that feeling of empty wandering.  
His eyes looked off into the far distance, shackled right there, and when Baul let him go and he fell on his knees, the man sensed his eyes return their logical sight to him.

He gazed at the dirty ground, panting.

"No . . ." He whispered.

Baul shook his head in disappointment.

"Venit porro mea fide equus." He yelled, his voice echoing out through the cold blackness.

A white light appeared before them, and from within it, a white horse with an ungodly beauty appeared.

"Come and find me when you're ready to do what's necessary." Baul told him one last time before he rode the horse through the light which it appeared from and vanished.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **...**

 **Thank you for reading everyone, I hope you had a fun ride with this one.**

 **Thank you guest** **. It is what I intend to do with the two, and I hope I can do it well.**

 **So I think this bit of change is better :) helps** **develop** **the two more** **naturally. I still believe the previous version is fine, but this is more consisting with what was established in that chapter: carry on, more in character. . . it does work better this way.**

 **What do you guys think about this?**

 **Stay tuned for more. :)**

 **Sorry Julia, thanks for the encouragement.**

* * *

 **Beta Reader Here: Hey, sorry about the original version. It hadn't occurred to me that it was a bit too soon for them to be like that, I'm feeling rather lonely myself.**  
 **So, the interaction was driven by my own desire to feel needed by someone else, physically and emotionally. The bulk of my relationships with women have ended rather sadly.**  
 **I have no real energy to go back and correct my ellipses usage, I changed from including a space behind them to not. If you noticed this was wrong, consider it a harmless style choice.**  
 **Anyway, there's not really anything more for me to say, I was just having a shitty time of it and so my desire to feel better overwrote my writer's instinct. Sorry.**

 **I hope what I did go with wasn't also inappropriate for Vergil, I feel it's in character and I don't really want to have to go back and revise this again. Today was all the time I had left.**

 **Song inspirations were 'Remember Tomorrow' by _Iron Maiden_ , 'Sweet Leaf' by _Black Sabbath_ , 'Black Serenade' by _Slayer_ , 'Sky's The Limit (Amended Version)' by Notorious B.I.G.,  
**

 **and finally 'Just Say No To Love (feat. Peter Steele)' by Tony Iommi.**

 **That's about it, nothing further.**


	22. Chapter 22 Shell Shock

**Merry Christmas everyone and happy new year.**

 **Chapter 22 ~ Shell Shock**

* * *

Vergil awoke from his bionic slumber, his mind returning once more to this frail construct he inhabited. His human form lay on its side, motionless.  
A shiver washed over his spine and he found himself disturbed at the chill suspended in the air. The flames of Jester fled, replaced with a black frost.  
Mechanisms inside this vessel seemed to be broken, ones beyond mere structural defects or composition.

The mere act of moving was a trial for world peace, ceasing all intelligent thought for the want of a motion.

As his entire being pulsed torture, he forced his head up to see the cloudless night sky. Laying there, he rolled to his back to ease the strain on his neck.

Now the sky faced him dead on, echoing in his head hollow refrains to a vacant stare. He tried to remember what happened . . . how did he end up sleeping here?

Sound faded in like an old vinyl record, melting warmth into his eardrums. The sounds of civilization battled for his attention. In the street.

It was an alley like most others, stretching on and on for an unreasonable distance between city blocks. Littered with trash, it was the perfect spot for a breakdown.

"What . . . happened?" He asked to no one.

Manah wasn't anywhere to be seen, neither Lady nor Patty, Lucia, and Anthony. Had he fallen somewhere? He knew it was all real, his own eyes he could trust.  
He recalled leaving Lady behind and heading off toward the shrine. He didn't know why, he just knew somehow his answers would be found there, waiting for him but then . . . ?

"Oh, okay . . ." He spoke to himself.

He felt breathless somehow despite no outward movement, "This is nothing."

Vergil fell onto the brick wall, propping himself up against it. His right leg was throbbing horribly for some reason.

He could feel his head going fuzzy, strange non-thoughts replacing what should have been recollections of time.  
Consciousness was fading again, his vision starting to blur, the numbing frost within his head spreading out on a lake.

Losing balance now, he felt like a leaf lost in the wind, pulled by forces he was no longer strong enough to fight.

What is this? What's going on?

It was as if the world was spinning around him, whirling faster and faster until his head ached rapturous stab wounds.  
Vergil's head slammed back down to the ground. He could hear his heart beating slowly, sweat pouring from his face to his hands.  
Slowly lifting up his left hand, he felt a sharp pain the moment he raised it. Both his leftward limbs felt like they were bruised.

He wanted to call someone, but who would be there?

No one, for not any one person cared. It must be his punishment to endure this alone.

Subsequent to his passing by, his mind drifted for eons, wondering where he'd gone and why. Tantamount were the answers to both questions.

He couldn't get the fog to clear, there wasn't anything for him to see when he tried to remember. Why? Something wasn't letting him see.

After what felt like years worth of sleep, he could hear the sound of someone crying in the distance.  
He tried to reach it, but there wasn't any use. It felt like his own body was restrained by heavy weights, bound by iron chains.  
Shackled was his situation; shop-bound was his prerogative. He wondered where Manah had headed after that.

Nothing good could arrive from his 'exploration.'

He heard a voice mumble something, a phrase.

W-. . . -e up!

A set of words he was unable to hear. One moment later, he felt cold hands touch his cheeks.

"Please, wake up!" He heard a voice plea for him to answer.

That voice . . .

Agonizingly slow, he was able to open his eyes, fluttering them open till they stayed ajar. Still, he couldn't see anything, just a mad confusion of colors.

"Can you hear me? Come on, breathe!" The voice pleaded for him again.

He realized who it was talking to him, that innocent lilt, those bright eyes and that insistent purity. Patty. Why was she in the street?  
The man stared at Patty's eyes, wondering where all that happiness went. Her face was red and puffy. There was a time she was happy to see him.  
Masses of unfocused color filtered themselves until he could see a fuzzy image, the image of his friend, this little girl who wouldn't leave him alone.

The girl jumped in his arms, holding back her urge to laugh.

"Don't do that!" She said.

"Oh . . . hey," He was able to muster the patience to speak, "Why are you here, Pam?"

"Patty." She said flatly.

"Patty." He corrected.

He had this horrible growl in his stomach, like he hadn't eating anything for a thousand years.

The two of them sat on the side walk. Now he found himself nearby his office, but he couldn't remember getting there.  
Patty pulled away to look at him, still confused. She seemed dreadfully worried but glad for some reason. Glad he was alive, he supposed.

"We heard a commotion outside and when we opened the door you were collapsed here." She answered, "For a second, I thought you were dead! I would've cried if you'd taken longer to wake up."

Vergil silently watched her, still feeling disoriented, the strain of having to process so much at one time wasn't at all easy.  
He wasn't exactly sure what was 'what' anymore. Had he been dreaming? Of course not, that pain was too sharp to be felt in a dream.  
Besides, lately his dreams had been vacant, filled without any human thought or seeming connection to reality.

It was like he was getting random flashes of another world, these glaring, shaky depictions of a black void. He felt normal when he woke, but that oddity always crept up his spine before sleep.

"Didn't I leave the office with Manah?" He asked her.

Her face danced confusion in a wince, "Ah . . . Yeah, but he came back before you did, said something about exploring he needed to do quickly. He'll be back, he only left a minute ago."

Patty touched his forehead, "Are you feeling alright?"

The devil heaved a long shudder, warming up as his frozen bones took their time thawing.  
In all the years of his life, this period was certainly the most bizarre. He wondered what could have driven Arkham back to the realm of the living so fervently.  
Ever since he'd come back, there'd been these odd moments for him, moments where he felt off somehow. Inside, the balance had shifted.

"I don't know," He answered her finally, "I'm exhausted. Do we have any food? I'm ravenous."

He pulled himself up, his legs still quaking ever so softly, but he was able to stand on his own.  
Oh the ridiculousness, he was once a mighty general in hell, commanding legions of vile creatures, now he was reduced to being unsure if he was able to walk.  
Patty, this small child becoming his crutch, what a laughable concept. He needed no one else's help before, why had he become reliant on it now?

No, no, this is Patty, that little girl he'd _chosen_ to protect, he'd gladly accept her help . . . Where was his head at?

The child held his hand and walked with him to the shop front, saying, "Take it easy, you don't want to collapse again do you?"

The man glared at her. Maybe she was more of a brat than he noticed.

Once they entered, Tony welcomed them with a piping espresso, "Oh, well, look who it is?" He said and gave him the mug, "How'd it go? Slay any monsters?"

"Only a few mangy dogs." He replied.

"Tony, I found Dante on the street just now."

"Wait, what?" He said, "Are ya all right?"

Vergil wanted to scream at him, the man has let Patty out of his site. Irresponsible.  
Vergil was no human himself, the differences between cultures were astounding when he really thought about it.

Tony was always oblivious.

The slayer knew he needed to understand what had gone wrong, and quickly. He should have been all back to normal by now, what were these things he was suffering from?  
Until now, he'd written them off, chalking up to the perils of demonic slavery. No, this was deeper, as if his human side had become so shellshocked that no part of his whole could truly function.  
He could see Lucia still laid there, unresponsive to any method or call. So much guilt weighed on him for that.

Was he going to end up like her? No, it couldn't be, their situations were perfectly opposite of one another. He was fine physically as far as he knew.

She had been mauled by Jester's wolves, the command of his own father's legions stolen by some amateur comic. What a cosmic joke.

The man laid down on his couch and took a stolid breath, "Tonya, go bring food from the nearby restaurant . . . now."

"Tony." He said.

"Just grab some food!" The slayer barked through gritted teeth.

The man rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll grab some Chinese."

Vergil winced, the Chinese restaurant was a higher-class eatery than normal. Money wasn't exactly something he could spare.  
Sure, he had enough funds to keep the doors open now, but the cost of living day-to-day was a grind no man could afford for too long.

"How much money do I have?" The Cambion groaned.

"Don't worry, we got enough for a nice meal." The man grumbled back.

'We.' Vergil thought, 'Cute.'

Patty took a seat beside him, twiddling her fingers through her golden locks, "I want shrimp tempura."

"Good taste," Vergil commented, "Get some mu shu pork and some lo mein while you're there."

"Okay, you want fries with that?" Tony replied.

Before the devil could get out one word, Patty spoke for him, "Fried chicken dumplings!"

There was such passion behind those words, those cherubic cheeks and that bright smile. Both men couldn't dare themselves to say no.  
Tony knew what he wanted himself as well, egg foo young, egg rolls and some fried rice, maybe an order of Mongolian beef on the side too.  
Oh what a feast. It'd probably cost over a hundred bucks easily, not that it wasn't anything 'Dante' couldn't afford.

Besides, Tony was good with money, even just a little of it. If they needed more he could whip up an investment with promise.  
The man started walking out of the place, saying the to small girl, "You _do_ got good taste, girl. Damn, alright, I'll be back."

The man stepped outside with a smile, the air feeling nice for a change. He walked on down the street.

* * *

Inside Devil May Cry, the remaining two sat in a complete silence. The slayer himself felt disturbed by what had been on his mind, the torture he seemed to be forced through.

"Are you sick Dante?" Patty asked, "Ya look pale, more than usual."

The man looked at her, wondering what made her even ask.

"Um, no, not that I'm aware of. I think I probably just need more rest if you're talking about the circles under my eyes. Those always make me look more pale than I am."  
The very instant he finished that sentence, he felt the clawing dizziness, the jagged cold in his forehead pulling at his mind.

He closed his eyes for a small moment, laying his head back on the couch. Still, the pressure wouldn't release, pounding at his temples over and over.

"Maybe you should go to the urgent care," Patty said, "They could give you something for that, there's a hospital nearby."

Vergil seemed to be bothered by this suggestion.

"Hospitals can't help me," He muttered, "I'll be fine, I have dealt with worse than this."

"But Dante?" Patty insisted, "You've got to take care of yourself."

The crimson hunter stared at her, his eyes wide, almost outraged.  
He stood from the couch and paced to the door.  
Something seemed to be bothering him, like there were pieces of glass under his skin.

"I'll be fine." He repeated.

"Come on!" She yelled, "You owe it to yourself! Don't be stupid!"

"I said I _will be fine_ , all right!? Be quiet, you _rotten little child._ " He shouted.

The grit in his voice scared her, the pure malice of it astounding. It wasn't necessary, she was just looking out for him.  
His fists were tightened, the look in his eyes was like a feral animal, looking bloodshot and the pupils like slits of a tiger.

Her expression changed and she looked away from him.

The slayer hadn't realized what happened till he heard her sniffle, the tears falling off her cheeks hitting the black leather cushions.  
Each one sounded like the stomps of a monstrous animal, crashing in his ears to the absence of all other sounds. His harsh expression softened, the eyes returning to his humanity.  
Did he really just yell at her? Those words . . . those words felt twisted, like someone else had fed him a script and his mind just printed the results out.

His chest plunged, a sense of shame drowning his hellbound heart.

"I-. . . I'm sorry, I don't feel like myself tonight." He tried to touch her shoulder, but she pushed his hand away.

"I'll just go to bed, I'm sleepy." She whispered.

He stood there, feeling an ocean gouging its way between them, her light sailing away from him like a helpless ship at sea.

He'd made a mistake, a very, very big mistake. As she left the couch, Patty stopped and turned to the desk, as if to check the front door for Tony. it was almost a silent plea, hoping he'd come back.  
In the reflection of the front door's small windows, a lancing ray of cyan light shot vertically into the office, splitting off into a clump of five separate beams.  
From five deep shafts, grouped in an irregular pentagon, light shined through the office doors, almost burning through until it burst. A mass plume of bright blue light surged in, blasting down everything.  
An instant later, the blinding flash squelched like sheet-lightning, and a giant ball of varicolored fire seared Vergil's back, leaving a series of smoke-rings floating slowly behind its wake.

Patty screamed as she was thrown back behind the desk. It felt like someone swung a hammer at her chest.

The slayer pulled himself together, managing to prevent a total collapse as he bore the brunt of the blast.

Glaring behind him, the man saw a figure emerge through the smoke.

"So, _you_ are Sparda's remaining son?" A deep voice spoke to him. Once the smoke faded, he saw the whitest horse he had ever seen.

It's mane was born of greek fire, the steely look of its face signifying it was a nightmare.  
The nightmare was a demonic steed few could ride, even he was unable to possess one.  
Of course, under the touch of Mundus, he was probably too corrupt to ride one effectively.

Atop the steed rode a man clad in matching white. He turned to face him.

"So what if I am?" He spat the words, his arms slung forward and his back torn to shreds, "Who's asking? You dare to attack me in my own house of business; you deserve a few extra gashes for that."

His threat was answered with a rough charge to the chest from the ivory steed, it's stone crown jamming him into the dark wall with a thud.  
All the air in his lungs automatically drained, forced out by the power of both impacts. He looked on, crushed and broken, blood dripping down from his left temple.

"Be quiet." The intruder said, and his eyes turned to Patty, "You. You're coming with me."

Patty bared her teeth, backing away slowly, "N-no! I'm not going anywhere with you."

Slowly the horrific situation settled with her, she was targeted again. A conjuring of black magic brought forth this horrible dream, she was sure.  
Even though this supposedly was over. Another promise broken, another victim made. Torn from the devil's grasp, the little girl was left to the ghostly man.

Blood filled the slayer's mouth.

"You're a coward," He said, spitting out a gob, "Choosing to show up here when I'm weakened." Vergil said as he writhed around on the floor.

In a warp of green, the intruder remerged standing over the man.  
Baul grasped the wooden structure behind the hunter in red and brought it down.

The bookshelf slammed over the man's bloodied face, crushing his arms like jelly.

"What's the matter?" The man said, "It's only a bookcase."

The silver devil killer groaned under the weight of the wood, the man in white's foot stomping the thing down harsher.  
How disappointing, the son of Sparda smashed by paltry books and wood shrapnel; was this really how he might've imagined defeat?

"Patty," The 'diablo-blanco' spoke in a spine-shuddering timbre, "Come with me or he dies right here, right now."

Vergil felt to scream, the bitter taste of defeat spurning a rage that said 'it's not over.' Fist's clenched themselves, teeth ground together, and his eyes shined red.  
Pushing his broken arms up, he forced all the bitter weight off himself, ignoring every suffering moment as his arms reset themselves, ready to tear apart and murder.  
Between the opposing forces, the object splintered apart and the devil's back came away from the ground independent of gravity.

Rising to his feet, the stained Cambion readjusted his body in spurts of abnormal movement, breaking bones back into place and refusing marrow.

Still, he couldn't understand what this man was after or who he was.

His eyes ran the gambit, starting icy blue, then turning red, then shimmering silver murder at Baul. His power felt muted, something was wrong inside.

"Don't listen to him, stay ba-"

The man in white grinned at the challenge and launched a boot into the slayer's chest. Vergil flew backwards, taken off his feet easily.  
His back hit the horse, who reacted with a swivel and a back kick met his flesh. Multiple bones broke apart and he ricocheted back toward Baul.

With one movement, Vergil felt the side of his face collide with more chromatic flames, his attacker using some kind of dark arts to counter the velocity.

The slayer felt himself almost blown apart with the explosive decompression, gas expanding and contracting in a volatile mixture that sent him out through his own front doors.  
One had remained after the initial blast, barely hanging on the hinge by one nail. The barrier came off as soon as he made contact, sailing over the black top alongside his body.  
Crashing onto the blacktop, he rolled further several feet before coming to a brutish stop, hitting the base of a stop sign in the wide parking lot.

Hacking up a lung, he began to convulse as the strain almost overwhelmed him.

He hit himself in the chest, trying to restart his heart, it took two strikes and he got it.

Crawling forward, the crimson hunter forced himself to keep moving.

Black singe marks dotted his face, and his hair part had been singed off.

His clothes were ruined; to a total degree, they were absolutely mangled.

All that, and he was still moving. Baul was impressed, if also annoyed.

The stranger walked close to the man in red as he crawled forward, spitting out blood onto the black top. The man grumbled ancient swears.  
White boots met the slayer's gaze. Looking up, that tan face looked positively evil, twisted by- what was it? Envy? Self-hatred? Greed?

The stranger stomped his foot down on Vergil's right hand, grinding in the heel to the knuckles. The slayer felt it crumble.

He gave a single shout, "Aah!" And then he glared up, face displaying psychotic rage.

"You disappoint me." Baul said, "I at least thought you'd make a decent challenge. I don't know what my brother saw in you."

He grasped Vergil by the neck and lifted him up. He pulled a blade from nowhere, a magnificent sword that somehow resembled Dante's.  
He held it back so that the tip rested at the slayer's throat. Curious, was it death that Vergil feared? The man held his head back, eyes closed.

A small voice echoed out in the dark to the white devil.

"I'll go with you!" The voice said. Lowering the weapon, he turned to see the child. She continued pleading, "I'll go with you! Just- stop hurting him! I can't take it."

The man stood towards her, keeping the weakened mercenary held up off the ground.

"I can't take it if you hurt him. I can't take it." She said, small tears escaping her eyes. They splashed on the sidewalk, she cried, " _Please_ stop hurting him."

Amusing. The demon looked back at the slayer and saw he wasn't even conscious anymore.  
Looking back at the girl, he stared for a moment before casually tossing the man's body aside.

Vergil awoke as his back hit the side of a green dumpster.

"Very well, child. I will take you and spare him. For now." The man said, coming closer, broadsword still in hand. Placing an arm around her back, he hoisted her up to rest on his side.

Patty grabbed his shoulder, tearing up as the man re-mounted his steed, the demonic ride loyally waiting for it's master.  
Vergil saw the young girl's sacrifice as the visitor prepared to depart. He forced himself to sit up, enduring weakness till he did so.

"Wait!" He called out, the man looking back in his direction, "Why do you want her?"

He shouted the question, bereft of knowing what reason this was occurring for. And he tried to stand again, trying so hard to just move.  
Vergil was so powerful whenever he felt like it, why now was he so weak? Why now had his body chosen to fail him? It wasn't fair.

The man offered no response for him, staying silent as he glanced in his direction.

"No . . ." Patty cried, still rejecting her dilemma.

"Quiet." Baul kept her still on his horse, moving her in front of himself and holding the broadsword's bleeding edge before her, a warning, "Don't worry, but don't move."

He looked on intently, sorting out where he needed to go and where he would take this little thing.

"Let me go." She whimpered, sobbing.

Vergil pushed himself up, forcing his wounded body to cooperate. He pushed on, despite the snapping of his muscles, the tension of his tendons.  
Standing up, he roared at them, but he was only in time to see it happen. The horse galloped forward and zoomed out of sight like a car, disappearing into a green rift.  
It was so quick, he couldn't even comprehend it. The void opened up and swallowed the two, removing them from his parking lot in one instant.

Patty's sobs were gone.

Nothing but the crackling of the horse's flaming hoof marks remained.

"I-. . . I'll _kill you_ for this . . . bastard." He grumbled, hawking blood between words.

Breathing heavily, he turned back to his office. One place rang in his mind; the weapon's cabinet.  
He blinked his heavy eyes, clearing them, yet sight refused to mend itself.  
Perennially, a fog covered his sclera, unmoving. So, he hadn't recovered from this.

He grabbed at his chest, his heart feeling torn open, bleeding from the inside. More ichor escaped his lips, he hacked up the copper liquid trapped in his lungs.

The world began to spin, the entirety of his head pounding with each pump of his heart. A mule-man appeared, shaggy and growling. Drool escaped its lungs.

'You rushed in to save a friend so thin, the white horse move with which you cannot win.'

Those words rang out, thick and deep from the Mule head's mouth. He turned to it, standing in the midst of his parking lot.  
He felt damned, what kind of hallucination was this? Or was this also reality? The sheer size of it was twice that of Baul.  
It was like a bear standing so tall, speaking to him ebony words as its human half, the torso, moved it's clawed fingers.

Pointing at him, it seemed to intimate some wicked curse, mocking the slayer's struggles.

Vergil coughed, anger burning inside his chest. A compressed inferno emerged from his right fist, and he plunged it forward.

A sparking meteor rushed out, setting the thing on fire. It stayed still, not seeming to mind as it's cloven hooves straightened.

Red eyes emerging through the flames, it just stared at him as it turned to ash, the eyes the last remaining thing to burn.

He thought on those words it had seemingly spoken though. Arkham, once again, had predicted all of this. How was that possible?  
Something was missing, some part of the puzzle. If he could figure out what was lost, it would all fall into place, he could understand.  
Then it clicked in his mind.

That man was more powerful than even Arkham, _he_ _is_ his master.

That's why he told Vergil this would happen.  
They were in on it the whole damn time.

"You damn maggots!" He raged through closed teeth, "He's been watching me this entire time. Both of them."

He entered the office, searching haggard for the weapons cabinet, searching for his arsenal at all costs.  
Finding the blade, he grabbed the Force Edge once more. It's handle immediately killed his pain, washing over him a calm ocean.  
All the wounds on him closed. The weakness across him fled, his face's veins surging for a moment before returning to normal.

Normal . . .

What constituted ' _normal_ ' anymore?

He returned downstairs, feeling that his hard work had been destroyed. This would put him back in debt again, or at the very least set him back financially, using Tony's mad money.  
A moment later, another visitor joined him; Modeus. He was bewildered to the state of the shop, stepping inside cautiously over broken wood and shattered glass.  
Lucia laid on the couch almost out of harm's way, left untouched. The rest of the office had been wrecked somehow. His face displayed his shock and worry so plainly it was like the nose on his face.  
Vergil glared at him, gripping his father's blade as if it were the living end. His pale face had unexpected color in it, Modeus knew something was wrong, and he knew who caused it.

Straightening up, the man in black spoke with a sad, knowing sound, "Baul was here, wasn't he?"

"Baul?" Vergil replied calmly, "Yes, I suppose that was his name."

They walked around, Modeus inspecting the damage as Vergil slowly came closer.

"I liked the way you made this place look. It reminded me of Sparda's home."

Vergil grasped Modeus by the collar, pulling him close to yell in his face with those feral eyes, " _Tell me._ Who is he? Who is your brother and where did he go?"

The man just looked at him, depressed and defeated by guilt.  
Another failure on the belt, another broken promise to his mentor.

Modeus' face was filled with sorrow. He was so afraid something like this would happen, but . . .

He didn't know, but maybe he could still help.

It was recent, therefore it wasn't too late.

The man could tell from Vergil's voice that something precious had been stolen from him. He wondered what had been taken, something so vital to make him this angry again.

"You can't choose family," He gently pushed Vergil's hand off and looked down at the ground, "I caught him a little while ago but he-. . . I couldn't stop him."

After a moment, the crackling flames in the background vanished, leaving only silence to loom over them.

Vergil's eyes were shadowed under his regrown hair. So, another pair of misfit siblings . . .

"I don't care if he's your kin, that wretched lowlife took Patty." His voice almost cracked, "I'm going to make him pay, no matter what it takes."

Modeus held up his hand, trying to think of a way to stop this, what he knew would be coming next.

" _Please_ , Vergil, remain calm." He pleaded, emotional, "Baul wouldn't ever kill a child. We need to think this through." He paused for a moment, "We can save her, together."

Kill . . . A word he couldn't bear to hear with the mention of Patty in the same sentence.  
This is someone's fault, he just couldn't tell who's it was yet. She was taken on account of knowing him.  
So, maybe it was just Vergil's own fault, he certainly felt that way.

His mind flashed back into his most disliked memory. The sickening sounds Dante made while he was holding him close.

The brother's bruised, trembling body not finding any comfort in his touch.

Vergil returned his mind to the present with an enraged grunt, fingers constricting together into fists as he placed Force Edge his back.  
The blade seemed to magnetically stay there, attached to him without a sling, as if it remembered who he was, that he was its old master's son.

There's loyalty in that old magic after all.

"No, I'm going out now to find them myself." He snarled at the man. Modeus tried to say something, but the slayer didn't want to hear it, "Don't even try. You know you'd lose. I'm going on my own."

Loss seemed to be a primary theme running through Vergil's life. His mother, Helena, Dante . . . And now Patty.

'No more. No more! I won't lose another soul, not now, not ever again.' Vergil thought to himself.

He walked out of the torn up office, striding down the cracked steps. Manah was arriving back, the demon smirking.  
The Devil nodded at him as Vergil approached, the rage in his eyes a smoldering flame that needed to be released.

"Are you that anxious to reunite with me, boy?" Manah sighed, "I leave for one minute and you do _this_ to yourself."

Manah saw the shop.

"What-" His words stumbled, "Who did this? What did you do to the shop!?"

" _You_ . . ." Vergil growled like a black dog, staring at Manah, " _Let's have a chat._ "

His demonic voice took over, and he dove for the beast's throat. Manah put a hand out in front of the man's chest, forcing the slayer back a few feet.  
They locked eyes, and for a moment, it seemed as though the two were bound to go to war, but the abduction took precedence. Vergil backed down.

"Before anyone tears each other's throat out, what happened?" Manah said.

Vergil squeezed the devil's arm and outright screamed, "We're tracking down another person tonight, whether you like it or not!"

Manah knew enough of his recent business associate to know something very wrong had happened just before he arrived.  
He'd not seen the man so distraught before, so untamed. His breath smelled of smoke and other charred, dead things.

"I need more information." Manah's reply was sardonic at best, "Don't you want to know what I found out?"

Vergil showed his bear-shaped teeth and his eyes glowed red, "There's no time to talk about your silly accomplishments, fool. You need to track down Modeus's brother."

"'Silly accomplishments!?'" Manah was surprised by his argument.

Modeus walked out, intent to leave with them no matter what. He promised to never allow Baul to come near Vergil.  
The only way to keep this promise was to find that girl and put a stop to whatever was afoot. It didn't make sense.

Baul had promised to kill Vergil, not Patty. He _never_ kills children, he was sure of that . . . But their interaction before infected him with doubts.

His brother had been changed by something. Why? He knew not 'why.'

"P-Please . . . I'll go with you. Let me make this right," Modeus said, fully determined, "I _will_ stop him."

No turning back now, they were all going, except for Tony, whenever he'd get back with food. Vergil would eat that later.

"Boy, what happened here? What happened to your establishment? I rather liked the way it looked." The old devil mused.

Vergil ignored him.

Manah grumbled.

"Fine . . . _Sir_ , what happened?"

"Baul came here. He thrashed me around, destroyed the shop and took Patty away from me." Vergil's voice was low, but it was loud enough.

"Well, shit!" Manah replied.

"I-I'm sorry," Modeus spoke up, pleading his case, "I had no idea, I assumed this place was safe!"

Vergil glared at him, "I did too."

Silence fell as Manah summed up the damages.

"We can't do business on the street very well, can we? Let's take care of this before we go." The demon said as he waved his right hand at his side.

They all heard a strange sound, a loud ram of items, as if something else had crashed to the floor.  
Vergil stared back behind him, and, along with Modeus, saw that somehow the shop had fixed itself.

It was as if the fight had never happened, erased from history.

"There. That was a freebie." The horned devil said to Vergil.

He couldn't deny it, he was glad that the old man had fixed his shop. Money saved: black magic put to good use.  
Manah also quickly made note of Vergil's clothing. It had been ruined. That was no good, he wouldn't resign himself to working with a bum.  
A simple snap of the fingers took care of that. The slayer looked back at himself and felt the repaired cloth. It was real.

Staring back at Manah, his look changed.

Maybe this old coot wasn't so bad.

"You're welcome." The devil said, "I'm a fan of aesthetics."

Vergil grumbled and pushed past him, warning off his aide to come along with him or taste his own blood.  
Manah complied. The dark slayer was a deadly mass, sweeping out a final darkness over the land. He knew it, he was the ruler of this midnight air.  
The old prince could feel the creeping arrogance of his young partner. It tainted everything they were trying to do. The ego of youth was phenomenal.

"I don't care if you follow me, but don't get in my way." He said to Modeus, "He's taken my g- He's taken Patty. He deserves every bit of pain coming."

The man stayed silent, staring at his ally with another sad look. He hated that things had come to this.

With that, Vergil phased away, blurring through the air after the object of his obsession.

Manah moved after him, accompanying Sparda's son on this gloomy quest. It was likely going to be the most difficult challenge he'd yet faced, but no one was complaining.  
Modeus watched for a moment, unsure if he should have joined. Was it he who brought this on them? Another pair of brothers related to Sparda; fate works in a pattern.  
Whatever it may be, Vergil needed guidance, a source of hope. Modeus couldn't let this become another failure, he wouldn't sit by and let senseless death overcome them again.

So too did the man in black join the Cambion and the Devil on their mission, leaping for the next rooftop after them.

Manah was talented at tracking, he could catch any smell among the others, but something strange was going on with this scent requested of him.  
It felt like the demon was inside the city but not really inside of it at the same time. The devil stopped after a brief moment of their race. Vergil sensed this and so too ceased running.

Landing on an adjacent rooftop, they spoke with one another.

"I can't fully track him."

"What? Why?" Vergil replied.

"It's like something is blotting him out from me. I don't know where we'll find him." He commented, feeling defeated almost.

Vergil rubbed his forehead, terminally exasperated by this evening. They acted like this was something normal, as though it didn't require urgency.  
The halfbreed's temper flared again, his body exuding a swell of black matter into an aura. His eyes narrowed on Manah, looking like a primal animal.

" _Shut the hell up_ , you useless worm, and lead the way. If you can't, I will go _alone_." The slayer barked.

Manah frowned at him, a surge of red electricity surrounding his black business coat, "You just pushed the boundaries, you disrespectful swine."

War was on the horizon, both staring the other down, ready to kill. They knew they shouldn't, there were bigger things at stake.  
Modeus closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. What did his brother start? Oh lord, what he wouldn't give to undo this mess.

This whole month was nothing but bad.

Vergil wanted to punch that goatish face so bad, it reminded him of the mule he'd seen. There was no time to waste on this . . . They could fight about this later.  
Right now, Patty took his attention. He simply left the two behind, jumping down and running through the streets, not really caring about the people walking who stared.

'Hang on. I'll be there.' He thought.

The others followed behind, trying their best to catch the scent.

"You know something, don't you Manah?" Modeus asked him.

"I beg your pardon?" The demon spat as the trio continued dashing their way through the city.

Vergil could sense something, but he didn't know what. At this point, he was running blind. How did Baul find them that fast?  
More importantly, why _now_ had he chosen to attack? Every time a new threat emerges, more questions get in his way.  
Eventually, the three stopped at the top of a building, where they reached the town's square. Not many people were around, the recent attacks had made folks . . .

Exceptionally skittish.

Touching down on the edge, Vergil overlooked everything.

"What do we know?" Modeus made the mistake of asking.

"Your brother has Arkham working for him, care to explain that for me? How did he even bring him back? He's been dead _for years_." Vergil spoke coldly.

"What are you talking about? Who is 'Arkham?'" Modeus replied, "I assure you . . . We were far away, we didn't come to this city until two years ago."

Vergil's patience was severely running out, "Look, Arkham predicted a white horse taking Patty from me just a couple of hours ago, it means-"

"There's a connection." Manah grimly finished that sentence, "He must be the one organizing the wolves and their movements."

Vergil was unexpectedly satisfied with Manah's interruption.

He put it directly and succinctly.

"Stop hiding the truth from me." The slayer said to the man in black.

Once Modeus realized what'd just been said, his shoulders sagged, will he believe him if he said what he knew?  
Probably not, but the result of what would happen if he chose to hold his peace would be far worse for all parties involved.

Staring at them, the man in black slowly came to tell the truth.

"He unleashed the wolves so he could command them . . ." The man said it low and dejected, "He wants to be the next Sparda."

The statements hit Vergil like a freight train, he hadn't expected Modeus to actually know anything.

Lowly, the man continued,  
"My brother didn't associate with both worlds, but I don't know what's changed. Why did he kidnap miss Lowell . . . ?" His voice was barely audible, as if to hide his shame.

Somehow, this moment reminded Vergil of himself and Dante, it was hard to describe the feeling.

Were they like this in the eyes of other people? Still, the two of them were different, they had their own issues to struggle with.  
Life was a hard deal, always. He wondered what it would've been like to have been an observer rather than the participant.

Lady knew.

"So, even _you_ don't know why." Vergil said, his anger beginning to fade.

* * *

. . . Time passed and the unholy three continued their ruthless search; no stone unturned . . .

* * *

"Damn, trial and error is a real pain in my ass." Manah said, trudging onward through the outskirts of the city.

They'd gone in concentric layers, searching every possible site, visiting every damned piece of holy ground.

Still, they found no trace of that monster.

The slayer flew across the sky, having punched the ground out of frustration. The explosion was enough to send him rocketing, though it didn't hurt. He was one with the weapon.  
How many ogreish affairs must they endure before the universe cut them a break? Through and through, this entire cursed world seemed to cosmically conspire against them.  
Vergil's body at least felt normal again. There must have been some flaw created, he thought to himself. Something went wrong when he was freed, his body still hadn't recovered somehow.

Whatever it was, he'd find a way to fix it. Just as soon as they found this mewling quim.

He thought back to the riddle he'd heard, the rest of it. How did it go again? He'd meet his doom among the bones?

No that's not right.

From the beginning: 'You rushed in to save a friend so thin, the white horse move with which you cannot win . . .'

How'd the rest go?

'You rushed in . . . White horse . . .' What next!?

Grave you'll find? No.

Gloomy doom you'll find among the headstones? Hedging doom he'd find among the white horse! Clue to doom you'll find inside the bone marrow! Damn it, no.  
Chewing the doom inside the headstones . . . Dooming the bones to meet upon the throne . . . Finding the clue to be among the headstones' bones . . .  
A clue to find among the headstones . . . Three bones to find a clue against the headstones . . . A clue you'll find upon the doomed headstone . . . A clue you'll find . . .

A clue you will find among the bones . . . _then meet your doom upon the headstones_!

That's it! Vergil landed against a tree trunk on his feet, so he pushed off, forcing himself back towards the other two.  
Sliding across the rural grass, he called out to the others who soon joined him. It might've been a breakthrough, it might've been utterly worthless.

"I have something!" He yelled.

"What? What is it?" Manah demanded to know.

"The second part of Arkham's riddle: 'A clue you'll find among the bones, then meet your doom upon the headstones.' I think it's telling us where to go." The slayer said.

Both thought it over, wondering what location it could mean.

"Well, it obviously refers to a cemetery, but which one?" Manah said.

Modeus thought about it, a cemetery . . .

"Yes, of course you would . . . The Lincoln Cathedral." The man said, the epiphany on time.

"'The Lincoln Cathedral?' Where's that?" Vergil asked.

"It's on the other side of town, near the old church that closed years ago. Kid's use it for black magic and rituals now." The Satyr-devil replied.

Vergil knew that place. He'd fought Trish there inside that church. He left it more of a wreck than it had ever been before.  
This 'cathedral' couldn't be too far, he wondered where it might have been in respect to that fight, that awful, awful place.

How amazing it was that close.

"How do you know he's there, what would bring him to that place?" Vergil said.

"It's where our mother is buried." The devil answered.

Silence overcame them.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

 **Thank you for reading everyone, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

 **What do you guys think?**

* * *

 **Beta Reader Note: There's a playlist for this series now, named directly after the story because otherwise it'd be confusing, wouldn't you agree?**

 **Anyway, there's not much to report, this chapter sort of just came together, me and LxJ just played messenger/tag for a bit sending it back and forth.**  
 **She added, I revised, she added more, then I revised. Songs used were more of the same, but I just started listening to the 'Peace Sells' album by Megadeth again.**  
 **Haven't it in eons, but god damn I forgot how good it was. The title track and 'The Conjuring' in particular inspired this chapter, so I highly recommend checking that out.**

 **I know there's a few Slayer songs in here too, 'Seven Faces' and a few more tracks from 'God Hates Us All.'**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, it was fun to work on. Merry Christmas everyone, and a happy new year.**


	23. Chapter 23 Shedding Skin

**Chapter 23 ~ Shedding Skin**

* * *

She knew her journey had come to an end when the warehouse stood before her. She should've expected it to end here.

The houses gave way to the barren roads a full twenty minutes ago and the verge became more of a junkyard than the junkyard itself.  
These old machines lined themselves up against the road, covered in dirt and scavenged into skeletons of whatever they used to be, perhaps construction drones.  
She forced herself to focus, now wasn't the time to be stuck on old ghosts. The warehouse was where she stood, and so the warehouse was where she'd go.

It had the arched roof of an aircraft hanger and the walls were corrugated tin. The broken tarmac around it was empty, save a forklift; it must be in use again somehow.  
Just like it was all those years ago, when those machines still operated. She needed to be here, it wasn't self-servingly brave as it sounded though.

Anyone who willingly chose to dwell here after the wolves attacked was insane.

Lady cocked her drawn pistol and walked into the abandoned warehouse. Well, almost abandoned. The remaining life there? They were the reason for that pistol.

Dust in the air, the smell of blood; victims. They'd been here not long ago. That or Lady was bleeding out all this time.  
. . . Just a short time earlier, she was warning civilians to leave, get away to shelter in their homes, where it was safe.

Supposedly safe.

 _Mostly_ safe.

Who knows if she truly saved those people. Probably would've been fine either way.

The warehouse was dead quiet, nothing but her own breath stood by her. The corrugated iron roof was domed some thirty-five feet above her, like a shanty-town cathedral.  
The rotten grain was piled high at the far end and for the farm rats, it was a free-for-all. At the other end were the packed sacks of seed ready for distribution back in their day.  
Wonder filled her head, what had happened to make people abandon this place? Kids used to love to stomp, clap and shout to hear the echo in this old warehouse.  
When it rained, it sounded like a million maracas, like all the percussionists in the cosmic world had arrived to play on the roof.

This little place used to have a farm around it, though no one would ever believe that now.

Her chest showed no signs of slowing, though she'd come to accept that now. She knew what was near, they didn't have to hide.

"All right, get out here." She shouted, her voice echoing across the taped boxes, through the dusty air, "There's no point in playing this game, I know you're in here."

Laughter so deafening punctuated her call like an exclamation point, some twisted response. There it was.  
A familiar, demonic, smug face came up from behind a box in the western-most corner. Those eyes glowed purple menace.

Though the sound was fundamentally evil, Lady smirked to herself as she prepared her weapons and locked eyes with the target.

"Step out from behind the box," She said, "Let me kill you quickly."

"You couldn't stop us if you tried," The thing spoke out to her, "The wolves will be here soon, and you will be dinner."

Lady didn't wait, armed already with her pistol, she drew her submachine gun, but the creature ducked back behind it's cover by the time Lady started to fire.  
Bullets ricocheted off metal beams and put holes in wood scraps left behind. She heard a few animalistic grunts and growls, things of a horrible nature. The beast had been wounded.  
She Moved after it, keeping her distance as she tried for a better vantage point among the rubble. She reached the box's other side, but it wasn't there.

Echoing to her, she heard it mock,

"I can smell Sparda inside you," The demon's voice grew thicker, like a bear's, "You would make a fine trophy by the end of this."

Lady spotted hooves like limps breakthrough from the inside and charge for her.  
Thinking quickly, she dodged backward, leaping as far as she could to put distance between them.

The demon showed itself, eight feet tall and dark magenta. It was like a brutish purple-salamander, covered in scales and hunched over.  
So hulking, and yet there was a leanness to the build, like a thin muscleman or an underweight basketball player, it looked odd.

Those spiked eyelids inspired confidence, the razor teeth perforated a machine-gun smile, and that bullet hole in it's thick hand was likely the reason for those bloodshot eyes.  
A legend in it's mind, this was an outrage. She'd leave the poor creature as it left all those people, torn apart and physically crippled. Her boot would be the decider to this duel.  
Temper's flared, and so their wills would clash, bullets or not, someone was going to die.

The slits on it's face flared like the nostrils on a man as it bellowed.

Her weapons sounded small following a roar like that.

It screamed again, unholy and high. Lady thought for a second she felt pain, her ears were left ringing.  
She was sure it was just an illusion that her nerves stabbed herself in the gut. After a brief moment, she got the ringing to stop, refocusing her sights.  
Disconnecting the worms and maggots from below, Lady's steely resolve cut through it's pathetic tactics. There wasn't any point.

"Cheap trick," Lady said, pretending she lost sight of him, "I can play like that."

The monster advanced on her, it's physique now barely discernible in the shadows. The shape made it's way towards her, bounding like a silverback for her throat.  
With each movement that belied the speed it was capable of, slime dripped, seeping chunky gobs of phlegm left deposited on the pot-holed tarmac for hunters like her to find.

It was sticky mucus, rancid and toxic to touch.

On contact, one was paralyzed for lord knows how long.

Beneath the gelatinous gloop, its skin was gnarled, but crumpled and folded like it had recently lost weight.  
Over it's belly lay crusty flaps of concave skin folds. The beast reeked of raw sewage and fetid flesh. Yummy.

It was frustrated that its food was backing away, so it thrashed its tail. The beast's one massive eye swiveled wildly, searching, its nocturnal vision only adept for discerning rapid motion.  
As a final resort, it began to emit clicking noises, using sound waves to detect this difficult prey and its large dish-shaped ears rotated for the reflected vibrations. The boxes were wooden.  
She could shoot through them. Lady smiled again—this time at the demon's own stupidity.

Pop, pop, pop.

So many rounds sent splinters flying. The warehouse grew polluted with dust, the building a new sanctuary for decay.

All the gunsmoke merged with the grime in the air and so, her lungs irritated, she had to let out a hoarse cough.

The lack of a similar few from behind the boxes indicated at least the rounds had found their home accurately, just like always.  
Butchery of the wicked, a favorite pastime. The smog began to clear slowly as it's dirt returned to the surfaces below.

One step forward, then another; nothing but silence.

She'd done it, a little too easily it seemed. Applying care, Lady watched the motionless body sitting in the darkness.  
It was imperative she not make any mistakes here, she despised mistakes. It only looked bereft of life, she'd make sure.

Growing closer, she moved in slowly, eventually making it just a few feet away.

It's eyes blinked open and it came lunging forward alive. An explosion of gunpowder created a flash in the dark.  
She blew off it's the top of it's head without mercy. The thing fell back, hitting the wall, it's jaw still wired open.  
Lady was ready to cash that contract.

It was what she had to do next that was getting on her nerves. Going back to Dante's office; _Vergil's_ office.

There wasn't much point in denying it anymore, no one else was running from this. It's just something to accept.  
Everyone had moved passed this it seemed, and yet she hadn't. The awkwardness of this gnawed at the tip of her skull.

She owed him that much at least. Sleeping with him and then walking away like that just felt cheap.  
Cheap to her, cheap to him undoubtedly. This was pathetic, a bond between them was just wrong, yet it still existed.  
She guessed there was enough understanding, enough common ground to warrant some kind of attachment.

Lady holstered her weapons and retrieved a knife. She hacked away at the beast's neck and viciously beheaded the slain creature, carrying the bloody appendage like a trophy.  
She started walking away. There was a ringing in her ears all of a sudden. From nowhere at all, a kind of swelling, aggravating timbre reached her, growing to head-splitting proportions.  
The decapitated head began to speak, a black tongue, something ancient, forgotten. She didn't know why, but there it was, yapping away . . .

Lady had seen darkness before, the kind that makes all that surrounds her feel like an old-fashioned photograph, everything a shade of faded grey or sepia. Not right.

This wasn't like that. This was darkness that robbed her of her best sense and replaced it with a paralysis.

Worry and fear.

"What's going on?" Asking the head as if it were still alive.

There wasn't any answer.

'A war going on no man is safe from . . .' She remembered Brad's words.

In this murky shade she stood, muscles cramped, unable to move. She only knew her eyes were still wide open because she could feel herself blink every once in a while.  
Instincts are hard to kill. There was nothing to hear, no sound to reach her anymore. Had lunacy finally found her? There was a pounding obsession inside her chest; ah yes, her heartbeat.  
It crushed all deceivers, never betrayed her at all, this loyal drummer continuing to play her beat on and on over the years. Lady felt assured she was still awake, none of it had been a dream.

So why had the light of the moon vanished? It'd left her like her mother had, snapped away in an instant. She was lost somewhere.

The woman guessed her strength of defiance would carry her through but that didn't erase the feeling her heart was just a rabbit in a snare.

She is the Huntress, she alone possesses the front-facing eyes, a brain enough to hunt, and yet she felt like prey now inside this desolate place.

A sense of swirling wind accompanied her senseless moment. She couldn't trust whether it was natural.  
There was a wayward direction to it, moving steadily, pulsing almost. Where had her feeling of normalcy gone?

 _Why_ had it gone?

Lady took a moment to breathe as she pushed herself to move forward. She could do this.

She'd dealt with worse than this. The dawn was so many hours away, yet now it was pitch black. If only she could eliminate this thick grimy darkness.  
Through the darkness she wandered, a severed head attached to her hip, tied with rope then clipped on by a metal contraption attached to her short's belt.  
The air was a chore to wade through, almost like corrosive sludge. Come on, just a little bit further.

Minutes on end went by with no change, the same black engulfing her as she went. Then, it cleared.

Before her was an almost entirely separate location. Gone was the warehouse and its empty pathways.

The street was covered in a dusty powder, the same that now dotted her hair and clothes. Fractured homes lined the street like crumbling teeth, some falling down randomly as supports gave out.

'How' was the first question that came to mind. It was the same city as always but it looked like someone had run through it with an M4 Sherman tank.  
It looked like a ghost town. Just the other day, it looked as though the city was in perfect health, barring a small massacre. People were afraid, cops were pretending not to be.  
The most dramatic thing to happen here in so many years was the rising of the dark tower, Temen-Ni-Gru. Demons roamed the city and destroyed houses because of it.

Graffiti still showed red and blue through the dust, tags from people who fled north of the city with the dying rains, all childish rebellions long forgotten.

How this trauma aged them, aged her . . . she could be ninety inside these youthful twenty-something bones.

Minding how she went, the bounty hunter made sure to avoid any buildings, walking practically in the street, these abandoned, lonely streets.

After a quiet, ghost-like wander, she saw the neon sign of the shop. Her chest sank inside itself.

She stopped mid-walk in front of the steps, still finding it hard to move inside.  
What was wrong with her? Clearly the problem had to be with her, since everyone else came to grips so soon.  
Yes, she just _had_ to be the weird one, never mind a friend of ten years just plopped out of existence one day.

Her train of consequences was cut short by Charlotte's necklace, the pendant beginning to glow once more. Steadily its light grew, encompassing her.

"What!?" She said aloud and allowed the necklace to lead her again . . . inside.

Lady slowly opened the front door, and to her surprise, no one was in sight. No sound of the young girl or Vergil. Everything was still.  
She wondered why, was there some job that demanded his time? No, then Patty would still be here. Vergil wasn't someone she thought of as being 'social.'

Where are they? she whispered to herself, there had to be some reason. There's always a reason. Still, she walked forward and tried to locate the source of this light.  
Lady saw the desk and felt the jewel vibrate. She looked toward her left, spotting the redhead woman she met some time age. Not sure now how long it's been.  
It was so distant now, a fleeting moment back there in her mind. Daylight had followed her to bed, this sleeping woman was the night's symphony. She felt something burn in her chest.

The sight of this woman inside Dante- _Vergil's_ office . . . it lit a fire inside her. No, it couldn't be.

Jealousy?

Thinking it to be this made her even more upset.

She knelt down to look at the woman.

"Hey," She prodded the woman's shoulder, trying to shake her awake, "Are ya alright?" She called out to her but didn't get an answer.

From the moment she touched her forehead a sense of warmth spread through her and surged toward the woman. The keepsake round her neck vibrated like crazy, calling out to the redhead.  
Lucia's eyes wrenched open for just a moment but it didn't seem like she was awake. Her eyes were grey, like someone else was there, yet the knowing of who she was crept doubt to this theory.  
A purely bizarre sight to behold, Lady didn't truly understand what she was staring at.

"Listen!" Lucia hurriedly spoke, "Find the man, tell him-"

Abruptly, the woman stopped speaking, her head falling again.

"Find who?" Lady shouted, shaking the woman "God damn it, wake up!"

She kept trying to understand the broken English, and her incomplete, puzzling last words as the frail being refused to wake again.  
Just like that, the light vanished from the pendant, and it was as if the ginger woman had never stirred to begin with. Peculiar.

"God- _Fuck!_ " Lady whispered to herself. She looked around, hoping to find something else but she just felt more or less even more useless.

The man . . . That probably meant Vergil, she supposed. Damn it.  
So, she weighed her options. The woman was frantic, that's probably not a good thing.  
If she was so inclined, she would just leave. She could leave. _Leave_.

God damn it.

She set the head down on the desk and walked out the front door.

"What kind of trouble have you got into this time?" She wondered.

* * *

 **. . . Through the midnight air, it was written that the man in red would creep death upon those who crossed him, but this one was different . . .**

* * *

The wind soared through the trees, spreading dead leaves all around them. It was almost like autumn. Brilliant red and yellow leaves fell all around.  
The hues were so vibrant, almost like they'd been freshly painted. It was odd, it hadn't been this way a short time ago. Still, the leaves scattered around.

Vergil stood tall against this uncertain omen, looking around stoic.

His fellow demons felt the same, the sudden change of temperature grinding their collective gears, all breaths made visible.

Charging footsteps rung out in the dark.

Whoever was coming up the dirt-path had to either be very, _very_ large and heavily armed, or a wretched idiot that considered themself untouchable.  
As they slunk in the shadows, footsteps soft . . . barely audible in fact, this stranger was allowing their movements to echo without care, like some kind of merry announcement.  
Arrivals aren't meant to be heard across a several-hundred-meter radius. The trio sensed a grim greeting trudging towards and none were pleased. Talking was a fools errand.  
Pride governed their very action, all the minute details of the ways they chose to speak. They walked the darkness carefully, waiting for the being to show itself.

Who walks so fearlessly of them?

Within seconds, a plume of ink rose twenty meters high, far larger than any of them. It was fluid, swirling grimy evil around until it formed a giant humanoid.  
It was a demon with shoulder-length hair and a large spear in its hand, looking like a creature straight from old norse. A jotnar, a giant man of old . . .

Humongous arms hung low, the figure hunched down. Its flesh materialized as sallow stone, a great beard not unlike a viking's adorned the face.

"That's-"Modeus whispered.

"Balar." Manah grumbled, very much aware of the goliath, "Well that's just perfect."

"I've heard of him," Vergil said, thinking about the name, "but only in passing."

"Oh, well that's _so_ helpful, you've heard of him." Manah laid out a thick sarcastic tone, "I guess it's up to the adults to figure this out then."

Vergil's nostrils flared out as his breathing became hoarse. His fists tightened, but he restrained his killer instincts.  
The cloven beast likewise straightened up, the trio standing in a line, the taller Manah on Vergil's right. Modeus stood left.

"No, this is- We can't fight him." Modeus said, his hands wavering.

"Don't be negative," Vergil said, his teeth clenched.

"Boy, there's no fighting this. This isn't some monster you can cut down, this is a beast who could tear your soul apart." Manah said to him.

"Shut it, billygoat." Vergil replied, "I've fought the likes of Mundus and survived."

"Yes, but you lost . . . badly." Manah reminded him, "You ended up his servant. You won't get that kindness from Balar."

Vergil's dreadful eyes glared at his horned ally, "Servitude was far worse than death, a torture you know nothing of."

The demon stood plainly, his look is emotionless. He had nothing to say in response, Vergil was entirely correct.  
He knew nothing of slavery, he had always been strong, his own master. The simple fact was the eldest son of the infamous Sparda knew a life of pain, true pain.

The grounds shook with the giant's first step.

Vergil looked at Modeus and saw pure fear, a look of madness from the revelation, "Wh-why . . . ? Why is he _here_?" The man whispered to himself.

Stories were told about this, a fight with a being like Balar was like committing suicide.  
Balar's eye could freeze anything it looked upon, like a Gorgon's petrifying stare, though it turned victims to ice instead of stone.  
It was a perfect killing machine, bred for destruction, though when it had been created was long since forgotten.

It was serious now, the city might truly crumble under the weight of its gaze in a hot minute.

Modeus grabbed Vergil's shoulder but the younger man gruffly pulled away, leaving the elder of the three to back away slowly. If they could just avoid it . . . A necessary evil.  
Hope disintegrated when the Jotunn turned its gaze right at them . . . A wave of frost came over them, a feeling of paralysis setting in so harshly, like the very nerves had been frozen.  
Vergil returned the gaze with one of rage, a fire burning brightly in defiance of the northern winds set upon them.

Manah seemed to accept their fate while Modeus tensed still trying desperately to walk backwards.

Amazingly, the three weren't frozen solid. Somehow, the dark slayers flames of rage themselves willed into existence a counter-effect.  
A frost giant's power was strong, yet Vergil's own ability was so very great on it's own, keeping them from freezing.

Now it was the time Manah chose to accept the confrontation. The devil broke from formation, leaping out of the beast's gaze through the trees. In mere minutes, he had reached the giant.

A clawed fist powered through the Jotunn's cheek, marking a gash as its frost-born sight was torn off-target.

Landing atop another tree branch, Manah looked back at his large foe.

"Hello again, old friend." Manah leapt out from the tree in order to close the distance, "So what brings you to this part of the world!?"

"I-. . . Do not speak with you." Balar responded, almost childlike.

Manah mocked the beast's poor intelligence, "Oh come now."

"You hurt Balar last time!" It screamed vengeance as it rocketed forth a right-handed swipe. Giant knuckles knocked Manah almost into the stratosphere.  
The creature then pointed his giant finger at Vergil and knelt to one knee, bowing to him. Vergil's eyes widened, was this a joke?  
He stood silent wondering what this creature wanted. The giant man of stone looked almost historic, as if writ unto tapestry as a painting.

"I answered the call." The demon's heavy voice dragged the syllables, vibrating through the very trees themselves, "I shall lend you my strength."

The slayer felt trance-like, as if struck by lightning. The pledge troubled him, though only for a moment before it vanished.  
As soon as it had appeared, the giant left, disappearing. It left behind a frigid feeling, the cold remnants of its terrible breath still lingered.

The horned demon crawled to his feet lifting the snapped tree trunk off himself as he'd crashed through it from the giant's fist.

"What the hell just happened!" Manah yelled, spitting out bits of bark, "What's going on, how _do you_ know him? That lug nugget wouldn't help a flea, much less the last son of Sparda."

Vergil looked at the devil, further confused, "I haven't a clue, but how do _you_ know him?"

The demon paused slightly, "I- uh . . . It doesn't matter."

Modeus stepped in, "That's a discussion for later, perhaps he knew Sparda. It's possible, I don't know everything he did to put an end to the war, so he might-"

"Do you know anything?" Vergil taunted the man in black.

Then again, perhaps it was true, not much is still known about Sparda, historically speaking . . . he was just a legend as far as most living people were concerned.  
Still, to keep so much hidden . . . even from his students. Something wasn't right about it, how would Sparda have made friends with something like Balar?

Manah rolled his eyes, stretching out his back with an audible crunch, "Listen to me there boy, I'm not going further. This is your path alone from here."

"Excuse you?" Vergil said, summoning Yamato from a void.

"That little girl is not my problem," Manah smirked.

Fire engulfed the mad hunter's eyes, he plunged the unsheathed blade through the beast's heart.  
It was in no danger of killing Manah but it hurt like nothing else could.  
The beast wrapped its clawed hands around Vergil's fists and forcibly pushed out but the blade lodged itself.

"Gergh! _Okay,_ maybe I overreacted." The beast replied through bloodied teeth, noting the slayer's strength.

" _What are you doing_!? Vergil, _stop_!" Modeus screamed.

The man in red darted his head towards Modeus, looking not at all himself. Then, the clarity in his eyes returned, and Vergil realized what he was doing.  
Shifting the heel of his left foot, he shoved Manah forward off his blade, the beast collapsing onto his back. He swallowed his blood and turned back to his partner.

"Aheh, perhaps it's best I take my leave after all. We'll talk once you've cooled down." He said, carrying on as if the impalement had never taken place.

He hopped to his feet, grew back the wings of his other form, and fled off into the night sky.

There wasn't any time to waste, Vergil left. He pushed forward, leaving Modeus in the dust.  
It took some time to catch up but the man's hesitant aid managed to keep pace.  
The path returned back to the street, on the opposite side of the park that faced the cathedral Vergil had desecrated.

. . . Just a short walk now but they'd be there.

Vergil felt his own heart beat faster, far too quick for his comfort. His mind roiled back and forth with ugly scenarios of what could've happened to the child.  
After a moment of silence, he could see the sight of the necropolis. All the damned souls that resided here, screaming . . . he could almost hear them.

He remembered the words he'd screamed at Trish as he took another glance back, seeing the beat up remains of the church.

"I wonder what happened in there . . ." Modeus pondered aloud. He saw Vergil's face and knew, "Oh."

Vergil stopped for a moment, the memory was one he couldn't quite handle yet.

He felt Modeus's hand grasp his arm, "Your father used to say: 'memories aren't what's hurting me, it's the sense of loneliness that comes from holding on to them.'  
I hope you can see that there's no shame in embracing in your past. Perhaps when the time comes, you can share with me what happened."

"No." Vergil grumbled.

"Fair enough." Modeus replied, maintaining the same key.

"It's a weakness to dwell on memories, I try never to think on them." Vergil lectured.

"-No, no it is not." Modeus cut him off, "You know what's a weakness? Never reflecting on your past mistakes, hiding your insecurities with arrogance that can easily be challenged."

The slayer felt outraged, "What?"

". . . I believe you heard me." The man spoke, his face solemn.

Vergil's right eyebrow twitched upward, and he avoided looking at the man. Arguing on this was a great way to stoke his anger.  
He need not know how his own principles and beliefs stand against someone else's, they were his and his alone.  
Not that they were special in any way, they meant a great deal to Vergil because of his life, growing up separate from his family.  
Those principals held for him the lessons of survival.

"I've no time for this," Vergil muttered and charged to the cemetery gates.

It was a grand looking place, a fine collection of mausoleums and expertly engraved headstones.

The gargoyles clung to the shadows. Crouched high on the gate columns, scattered across the mossy flat plains. Crumbling and festooned with lichen, they were crafted to be grotesque.  
Eyes bulging, over-sized ears unnaturally pointed, and the grins evoking notions of sadistic pleasure, they looked like immortalized devils all their own.  
Hunched, disfigured and leering downward toward the parishioners, they were as cold as the otherworldly beings they represented, built into these walls.  
The courtyard itself belied the cathedrals beautiful walls, multicolored stain-glass windows depicting the birth of Christ and his crucifixion. Life, death; all leading here.

Vergil looked to the skies, looked to the half-light of the moon. He couldn't help the chill that crept down his spine.

Grey clouds filled the air, a light drizzle began.

"So, this is it." He said, breaking the silence, "I can sense him, he's here."

Vergil was the first to move. In a blur, he raced around the cathedral, "Where are you!?" He shouted.

No, he didn't want it to be a surprise, he wanted this to a duel to the death.

Baul would pay with blood.

Rows of tombstones remained erect in silence to the left and right, in front and behind, like a sea of the dead.  
Some crumbled with the weathering of centuries, some were smooth marble, with new black writing, and laid recently with floral tributes.  
The crypts were overgrown and unkempt, for now. Even their mourners had joined them under the clay soil.

Upon the hill, a new grave had been dug to await it's new occupant.

His eyes narrowed on it, resting by an oak tree.

"Do you hear me?" Vergil called out again, controlled, "Do you _hear me_ , false prophet!?"

A vast blanket of mist settled, hanging heavy over the silence. It suffocated every building and every tree at their base, swallowing every distant object and vanishing around every corner.  
It crept around the Lincoln Cathedral, its silent footsteps tiptoeing around each gravestone in the churchyard, passing by a number of headstones.  
Ultimately, the fog came to rest at the foot of the fresh grave, a wound to the earth's crisp soil. As above, so below . . . the witch's creed. Vergil knew not why he thought of it now.

"Dante." He heard a familiar voice whisper.

Right near the left path of the cathedral, he saw through the dense haze a small figure that had been chained up.

The cuffs colored red, her flesh was bound tightly, showing ever so slowly.

"Kathy!" He yelled.

"Oh god . . . It's _Patty_! P-a-t-t-y, _Patty_!" She cried, so intensely frustrated, moaning, "Just help me, Dante! _Please_ help me!"

Tears streamed down her cheeks, her whole face red. Her shouts were at the very top of her lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm here!" He said bolting toward her.

He knew it was a trap, he wasn't born yesterday. Something pushed him back before he could touch her. A rush of blue flames engulfed him as he raised his arms.  
The arcane cleared and revealed the man in red still stood almost entirely untouched. He lowered his arms slowly, holding his defense as he surveyed what greeted him.

Baul stood, smirking. He'd put one his swords to her throat and her scream turned into a gurgle.

"No!" Vergil roared.

The blood gushed in a constant flow, spurting out in time with the beating of her heart. At first, it came thick and strong, flowing through her fingers as they clasped the cut flesh.  
He could feel the blood move out of her, the fluid washing over her sweet little hands. It was no warmer than her own skin. Her mind drifted elsewhere, her thoughts fading out.  
After a few moments more, the blood still trickled out her rapidly paling skin, but the pulses were slower, weaker.

The little girl had fallen to the ground, sitting there, lying still in a pool of blood filling slowly beneath her.

Vergil's knees threatened to buckle under him, he raced forward, the white demon stepping away as the child became his primary concern.  
He tried to get there before she hit the ground. He didn't. She lay there, near lifeless as he held onto Patty by her shoulders, gently caressing her face.

Those eyes . . . cold and empty. He felt a tear roll down his cheek.

Somehow, the universe had destined him to cry once more. He could feel it unraveling within him, the threads of every happy memory he could ever recall.  
Only disarray lay scattered at his feet. His sharp knees dug into the earth as he remained there. He opened his mouth, but not a sound left, his head violently quivering.  
It was as if there was a drill at the back of his skull. His eyes saw nothing; they'd lost all sight of what is and what should have been.

His mouth hung open, an eternally silenced scream escaping, salty tears dripping out from behind blues eyes to the soil, stained with the memory of this little girl he cared so much for.

How many hours had he spent so lonely? How many times had he expressed love as vengeance? He knew it was a trap, and yet Baul did the one thing he hadn't expected.

He killed his own bargaining chip. Why? It was a senseless thing.

Baul stood in the unmoving silence of the churchyard, his only comfort that of the white coat that hugged his shoulders and grabbed at his trouser legs.

"I vowed to stand by and help . . . I gave my word to Sparda. Yet that wasn't good enough." Baul said, sounding almost tired, "I wonder what he thought of you . . . he was probably just as disappointed."

There was a sonic rush through the air as Modeus arrived, witnessing the elder twin crouched on the ground to cradle a small body . . . Patty's body.

Oh god.

No!

"You- You have to destroy everything! You kill all that you touch. You can't stand to see anyone happy!" Modeus shouted, clenching his teeth as he screamed, "You little _bastard_!"

Baul appeared not to care, he stood there with his blood-soaked blade looking pleased with his work.

"On the contrary, I don't object at all to happiness, but I do object to watching my brother make a ridiculous display of himself. You know as well as I do what must be done, yet still you ignore it."

Modeus took a step back, his eyes appearing to well up as he realized Baul truly was capable of killing children.

"You had no right to take her away. You had no right!" He screamed.

"Well!" Baul shouted, clenching his fists around both his blades, "If you won't do anything about it, I will!"

Vergil stood on the brink of something he couldn't describe. The weight of everything seemed to press down on his shoulders and he struggled to take even a single step forward.  
It was too much. All of it. The life of that poor little girl. He tried to wake up, think to himself that all of this wasn't real, it was some kind of illusion. But his body wouldn't let him.  
One moment rung in his mind, the moment she said to him that 'those people did not have to die!'

Why was he thinking of that one sentence right now?

And somehow, he kept moving. And yet, every step cost him.

Vergil looked down at his hand, and there was nothing . . . Patty's body was nowhere to be seen. It took him a moment to recover slightly some of his sanity.

"How . . . weak." Baul shook his head.

Modeus stared back and realized the body was gone somehow. To his horror, the man realized it was just Baul's magic, a mind game meant to torture.  
Baul hadn't killed her at all, not here at least. He saw now that Baul had no idea what he had done either, what a horrid fool to spurn the wrath of Sparda's legacy.

Out from the darkness and out from the parting mist came the mad hunter, his eyes burning crimson rays more toxic than the sun.

His footsteps were so heavy, the ground almost shook with each one.

"My skin is cold . . . " Vergil stalked forward, growling like a loose wolf, "No more head-trips. You and me . . . alone."

Blackening power poured out from his core. His knuckles cracked themselves, snapping so loud they killed the silence. The look in his eyes . . . it was just like that night he fought Trish.  
Modeus took care not to stay in his way, having summoned his maroon broadsword. The man knew he couldn't sway the slayer, blackened was the end. He'd terminated Baul's worth.  
The man in black looked at his brother, the white devil.

"I tried." Modeus said to his brother, "I really tried."

He stepped away fully, leaving the two to their devices.

"Respect my choice," Baul replied, "I have an obligation to this."

With that, he turned his attention to the slayer.

They stood opposite each other, Vergil unarmed, Baul wielding dual brands. Water droplets pecked the tops of their heads.

The ground had slowly soaked beneath the light rain, growing more and more damp with time.

Both sides remained unmoving. If hatred was visible the air would have been pure scarlet. Then suddenly, both fighters shifted through space, blasting toward one another.  
Baul's blades clashed against an unexpected sight, the Force Edge. So much force in every blow, they traded rapid fire slashes, their demonic weaponry clanging violently into one another.  
Unbridled fury met controlled resentment. Baul brought the left blade at Vergil's side, though the Cambion countered with Ifrit, summoning the gauntlet to act as a shield.  
The impact repelled Baul's arm as Vergil seized the opportunity, slicing force edge down across the inside of Baul's forearm. The demon's eyes blared, bloodshot.

He rained blows on the slayer as if he meant to smash him into the very dirt, managing to get a cut on Vergil's cheek.

Sliding forward on his right foot, Vergil punched forward with his left hand, bringing forward the summoned gauntlet from earlier.  
He smashed his knuckles against the flat of blade and compressed the force in on Baul's grip, hoping to break it. The man in white held strong.

Each didn't just want the other dead, they wanted the other smashed, obliterated; nothing left to bury.

"They'll never find your body," Vergil coldly informed him, devoid of emotion.

Baul smirked as he pushed back, "Aren't you the attached one."

The demon shoved his other sword, locked against force edge, back towards the slayer, forcing the man back off his feet. Vergil quickly rebounded, bring his sword forward.

Bringing his right hand over in an arc, Baul continued the circular wave, parrying the stab off to the side and leaving the hybrid open on his mid.  
He brought his blade forward without mercy, piercing Vergil's flesh. Baul drove the blade so far despite it being just a single stab.

Vergil cocked his head to side, looking down at the wound then back up at Baul.

"You're supposed to be a demon? How pathetic." Vergil said.

"She kept crying, you know, calling your name while the light left her innocent eyes ever so slowly." Baul began taunting him.

He grunted as the force edge cut into his tricep. Looking up at his opponent, the white devil saw a flaming cestus reach his face.  
Vergil swung without mercy, hitting his enemy so hard it knock out some of his jagged teeth, forcibly breaking this macabre struggle.

Baul spat out blood as his fangs quickly replaced themselves, like shark's teeth, "Child's play."

He leapt forward, zooming across the battlefield with a frenzied series of one-two slashes, following one blade with the other. Vergil reversed his grip and tucked his father's blade behind him.  
Power quickly rose to the surface of the metal, crackling electricity along the edges as he bided his time. He bent his knees and held his left-gauntlet fist in front of him for defense.

Yelling, the white devil had almost reached him when the slayer released the force edge forward, bringing the reversed brand up as the energy released forward.

It struck Baul diagonally across his chest, forcing him back off his feet some fifty feet across graveyard. The drive worked, it's crimson slash careening out into the mist.  
The demon his the side an old tomb, the corner of it crumbling as he ricocheted off it. He slid across the wet ground, muddying his white clothes . . . Unacceptable.

Hiding back as the mists closed, he disappeared.

Vergil stood calmly, patiently awaiting his foes next move. He heard the sound of sticks crunching under careless feet.

So, he was southwest of him.

Opening his eyes, he turned with a strike, slashing the blade crosswise towards his eager foe. Baul's blades crashed against the force edge.  
Vergil ground in his heels as the metals quickly heated. Baul sneered in his face, their powers matched evenly. Vergil felt pain burst through his leg.

The white devil kicked his heel into the inside of Vergil's thigh.

Shifting his blades, Baul forced Vergil's sword to the side with the left, quickly slashing upward into the slayer's chest with his right-handed weapon.  
Blood trailed the steel as he flew backwards, toppling above the hill and landing into the open grave perfectly. Thick spears punctured his body, booby-trapped inside.  
Grasping the spike sticking out of his spleen, the hybrid spat up blood, the copper liquid trailing back down his cheeks.

"You keep me waiting for _this_? What a pathetic show." Baul shouted above him, "Get up you weakling."

Raging, chaotic flames funneled blasted upwards, burning Baul's face. He'd forgotten about Ifrit. His back hit a headstone, crumpling against the rigged shape.

The grave crumpled against him after a moment, his body collapsing uselessly there as Vergil emerged from the pit.

He felt like his heart had been cleaved from the body. The arteries, now drained of their lifeblood, stuck out like rubber hoses.  
Quickly, the feeling subsided, replaced by a scorching emotion. His vendetta wasn't done yet, the devil had to suffer more.

"Color me impressed." Baul said, wiping soot from his eyelids as he kicked up to his feet, circling the right blade, "What a pity that fiery temper'll be extinguished."

The veins in Vergil's face grew thick and purple as his eyes turned blood red.

"You shall die." The slayer hissed at him, his muscles expanding, his skin contorting further until finally, he had become the Majin once more.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

 **Thank you for reading everybody, I hope this was worth it. What do you guys think so far?**

 **I wonder where are you Meech Mako, and the others. I miss you guys.**

 **To guest: I know dear, the number of views I get is enough to tell me there are many readers, but it still was surprising.**

 **Out of nowhere, five people dropped the story, It kinda made me question did I do something wrong? did the quality drop?**

 **But I'm fine. Oh well, it happens.**

 **Thank you so much :) I hooked you in, that's nice to know.**

 **See you in the next update.**

 **...**

 **Sorry for the long wait, so many things happened and are still happening. Glad it's all come together this way though.  
This chapter was influenced by '10s' by Pantera. I channeled rage and writers block at this, it seemed to kind of work, I hope everyone likes it.  
Been reading a lot of Plato recently, but whether that actually has anything to do with the quality of writing, I don't know.**


	24. Chapter 24 Battery

**Chapter 24 ~** **Battery**

* * *

First, the inky darkness sank into the bone marrow. This was followed by bursts of lightning raging across the streets. Steadily, it made its way from one end of the city to the other.  
Sometimes flashing bolts of pure energy stood for long moments around the metal buildings. Temporarily, they held prisoner all the people inside, dangerous cell bars of heated light.  
Counting one, two, then three, and then came explosions of thunder in great waves of discordant, demented booms. They rattled and cracked windows, and made all hearts tremble inside their chest.  
The wind raised to the level of a thousand hellhounds howling all at once. No one could speak, fear transformed intelligible words into agonizing moans and worthless defense mechanisms.

The stench of death hung heavy in the air and it all seemed to explode from place, a darkened hall of malevolence.

"Keep moving!" A soldier lead the people away the moment the winds began to kick up once more. They were moving in a straight line, seeking one another's comfort from this disaster.

The storm that the sky had been foreshadowing this whole month had finally arrived. The war was here, warned only by a few meager attacks and minor casualties.  
It seemed no one could stop it now, the cities were running red with the blood of hapless victims, their homes no longer a safe haven as monstrosities destroyed the foundation.

In all this time, straining humanity cocked a sting unto the back of the populace's back, hiding certain facts as if it were acceptable.

Memories of corpses and dead dogs filled their minds, the big city's business buildings being torn apart by flames and a mad jester, the rain unable to quell.  
Like a predator in the wild, the beasts flooded the streets now revealed for their true names, the wulver. Wulvers, sins, jungle fiends, all manner of beast had arrived.  
Some men drank Hennessy. Some just lost their minds, so many dying in the streets and no way to stop it.

So it goes.

That son of Sparda was a bipolar son of a bitch. A lost cause.

Manah stood atop the ledge of an old building. He supposed it might have been considered a skyscraper once.  
No sense hiding his true form now, he let his animal instinct shine true, razor sharp teeth and all.  
Most of these ants fled through the streets like little toy soldiers, smelly primate cowards postponing the inevitable.

Their military doing what they could do best: nothing.

The wind surged enormous gusts, flowing through his mane and ruffling his black coattails.

But it was in unnatural patterns, occasionally breezing through then blowing into massive flurries.  
It was an anthropic uncreation, some kind of black magic that forced this wind here, it felt ancient and lifeless.  
Manah rolled his shoulders and kept thinking on what could have caused this unbalanced mess.  
Someone somewhere had tampered with something, the world itself was out of sync, and the air just wasn't right.

Was this even real? Why would this happen now?

Manah wasn't sure what this crucifixion meant, he only knew who might be responsible.

And that wasn't the person who'd shown up.

This was wrong, all wrong, fate twisted out of form somehow. He would find out why.

His mind drifted out of the present, traveling backwards to just after he had lead Vergil to the woman he sought, searching for his own answer.

* * *

 **. . .**

* * *

 **He stood in front of the door. He heard the conversations inside clearly.**

 **"I win again." Patty laughed and clapped her hands.**

 **"Oh shoot, you're a mean player, ain't ya?" Tony replied, "I owe ya ice-cream again. I'll be broke have mercy."**

 **"No way. You promised ten ice-cream cones. Come on, do it." She told him.**

 **"Fine, fine . . . Tomorrow, alright?" The man said, somewhat irritated.**

 **Manah smirked and opened the door, "Hello everybody."** **He said cheerfully.**

 **The duo, sitting opposite** **each other, looked to him.** **Patty stood up, eyeing suspiciously.**

 **"Where's Dante?" She asked, looking behind him to catch any sight of the slayer.**

 **He rubbed the back of his hand and continued. "Don't worry about him, he's off doing his own thing. Last I saw him, he was taking a walk.  
I've got to go do something for just a couple of minutes, but he's fine, he'll be around sometime, I think. I don't really know, he does what he wants."**

 **"Got it," Patty replied, sitting back down.**

 **Well, that sounded a lot like Dante.**

 **"Why do I think of the devil every time I look at you?" Tony asked him.**

 **Manah chuckled aloud, it seemed his reputation remained despite the human guise he put on, "There are some things in this world you're better off not knowing."**

 **Tony himself stood and faced up to him, "Stop treatin' me like I'm the help, I only work for Dante, not you. One more crack like that and I'll flatten ya."**

 **"Aheh," Manah chuckled, "Oh really? Anthony Romano, the same man who left his fiancé in financial trouble and embezzled money from his former employers.  
You pinned it on your boss and fled the state, then you hid yourself inside some shady casino to start a new life. You began an affair with the owner's wife: classy.  
You slept with a platinum blonde two nights ago and you ate Sushi for lunch around the corner. That sound about right?"**

 **Tony's face went white, how the hell did this guy know so much about him?  
Had he been spying on Tony? It couldn't be, he didn't look familiar at all.**

 **"Stay away from this boy." Manah told Patty, then left Tony with these words, "As for you, maybe this place will straighten you out."**

 **Stepping outside, he walked off to the right.**

 **It was time for him to meet the clown.  
**

 **What fool dresses themselves in purple? It was such an ugly color in huge doses.**

 **His feet left the ground, landing on the building behind it as he began building speed, searching for the jester, the crooked man's presence surprisingly close.  
It was lurking in the shadows somewhere. ****He kept heading further into the city, moving on from one place to another until he was close to the city harbor.  
He could see the sea was strangely frosty, islands were further off in the distance beyond the frigid waters.**

 **His sharp eyes could see orange and red hues across the sky, unaffected by the bizarre seasonal change in the city.  
Winter's call was trudging toward them, somehow coming here unaffected by time. It meant one thing; war. War is coming soon.**

 **"Scary, isn't it?" He heard a mocking voice speak to him, the source leaning back against a crane with its arms crossed.**

 **Jester's smile screamed at him, completely unfit for his relaxed posture.**

 **"Nothing can stop it now. It's all coming to an end." The mad man said.**

 **"Let's cut the bullshit, clown." Manah barked at him, "You're working for someone, a little mongrel like you doesn't just fall out of the sky. Who sent you?"**

 **"Oops, did I say too much?" Jester put one hand over his mouth, then burst into laughter, he jumped forward from the wall and did his little dance.**

 **"Jester's gonna spank your butt, spank you on the bu-"**

 **A set of knuckles crushed his teeth in, Manah's own rage a mistake to provoke. His human guise** **fell away to reveal the horned beast.  
The purple man hit a set of tin trash cans, and he sat up, spitting out his teeth.  
Placing his spindly fingers around his crunched in nose, he forcibly pulled it back into shape.**

 **"Gah! I never to get to finish saying that!" He yelled.**

 **Manah grappled Jester by the neck and lifted him off the ground, a set of devil wings bursting from his back and looming over the harlequin.**

 **"You've played far too many games for me to let you live. Speak up, did he send you after me? Does he think you can steal my power?"**

 **Jester squirmed a bit in his hand out of momentary discomfort, "Easy there, this isn't a game of choke the hooker out, now is it?"**

 **The grip triggered a false pain response.**

 **"You can't stop him, not tonight, I've made absolutely sure of that. The first sign is the devil boy's dwindling health, the second sign will be the Southern Cross."**

 **That was the last he heard, then the Jester appeared to fall apart in his hands, completely gone. He'd turned to ash.  
Damn it. There was more to do. Once Manah had returned to the shop, he heard the voice of someone screaming.  
** **He saw the aftermath, Vergil's near strangling of Modeus and the destroyed ruins of the shop.**

 **"I leave you alone for a half hour . . ." He muttered.**

* * *

 **. . .**

* * *

There's no point now. If only Vergil's temperament were different, he could've calmed him and there might have been a chance things would end differently.

Now, there was no way to salvage him.

"Ah well, I'll do it by myself as usual." Manah shrugged it off, "So much for 'partnership.'"

He floated high above the city and watched it for a moment.

"You can't run away from me, Jester."

* * *

 **. . . The streets froze over, illusions born of dust plaguing all that try to escape . . .**

* * *

Lady moved on, killing her way across the city. It was cleanup time. A number of demons fell to her guns, turning to ash in the wind. The Wulvers returned.

"This feels wrong, I wish this was different." She mumbled, wishing anything that the wolves would come to their senses.

Wishing it didn't make it so.

The source of them was scattered, there was no way to see exactly where she could go, no method of determining if she could even put a stop to it all herself.  
These things always happened to her, never to Dante, never to Vergil, never to anyone else, just her it seemed. Why? Was she just cosmically cursed?  
Maybe, she certainly felt that way recently. Once a steady gaze and charming smile had been buried in trauma and lies. Took her years just to make her motives clear anyway.

Her campaign to clear the streets was one that might get her killed but she was determined in a way that set her apart from others.

This wasn't suicidal, this wasn't overconfidence, this was just experience and dedication to a job she really didn't figure to be concrete.

Was it all a lie? Was her spine on account of bravery or loneliness, a longing?

After so long, she just wished people would talk to her. Anyone. Just someone to talk to who would understand that life she'd lived.  
Maybe _that_ was the lie. She'd told herself this idea so many times over the years she'd come to believe it, she knew a part of herself realized it.

She was meant to be alone, there was no happy ending for people like her.

So many wolves gunned down, either in cold blood or twisted satisfaction she didn't really know anymore.  
Guess it would be a good paying job had anyone actually offered her a payday. Usually the city pays up in moments like this.  
But that was then, when the tower had risen, no one knew what to do, it was like a nightmare that wouldn't end.

Now it was the same. In fact, it was almost too similar, she was once again battling demons in the street in a troubled state of mind. Maybe there was such a thing as fate.

Suddenly, lightning cracked the sky, landing far off down town. It seemed to continue endlessly surging down in one spot, repeatedly striking a single point.  
Black winds picked up around her and the smell of death shook through the avenue, right then and there, she knew where she would be going next.

She knew who'd be there.

* * *

 **. . . Behind the cemetery gates, two devils warred at each other . . .**

* * *

Fear wasn't an emotion Baul had considered when he first set off on this venture. But now was as good a time as any for him to experience new things.  
He didn't feel like this when he obliterated hordes of powerful demons chasing him, nor did he feel this way when facing his own brother for the first time.

That was what he thought Sparda liked in a warrior, fearlessness.

Not even when he stormed Mundus's castle, bursting out from the dust and chaos into the warm sunlight, did he even feel one fraction of fear or anxiety.

His skin tingled with hope and horror. His hands jerked and jittered back helplessly against Vergil's might. His own lips murmured pointless advice, silent encouragement.  
Above them, Modeus shoved, stabbed, shouted to the point his voice turned hoarse, and he just kept swinging away. The Majin always seemed out of reach.

Bringing one of his blades to Vergil's side, he tried to cut into his ribs but he countered the swipe with the red lance of energy from his forearm.

The devil in white thrust his other blade forward, just trying for an easy slash on the chest, but the devil's fingers gripped the unearthly steel.  
Without warning, Vergil jammed his knee forward and Baul felt himself leave the ground, spitting up a blood trail as his back collided with a tree trunk.

On four wings of fury, the slayer rode after the man and smashed his face back, forcing the man's head into the bark.  
Releasing the blade from his other forearm, he drove his right arm to the man's stomach, powering the blade all the way through.  
It burst out the other end of the tree as the devil took pleasure in his victim's pain, grinding the weapon around.

Retracting the extension, it hid away inside his arm just as he drew his right fist back and punched Sparda's prodigy. Head driven by fist went through an entire section of the tree.  
His head seemed intact, a startled expression attached to it as he dropped both his swords to the ground. The man felt another fist pound his stomach, then he was no longer near the tree.

He'd been moved, staggering forward and then turning around as he tried to gain his balance.

Vergil placed his claws around the trunk and lifted it up off the stump it'd been severed from, the blow having knocked out a perfect row of the wood so quickly it had just landed back in place.

Tilting the thing forward, the slayer darted forward, ramming the dead wood into Baul's torso. The impact picked the white devil off his feet as Vergil slammed forward into the cathedral's bricks.  
It crushed Baul against the wall, the slayer's strength merciless as held the improvised weapon in place. The pain was so great, it forced Baul to wake, and he drove his hands into a seam in the rind.  
With a scream, he pried the wood apart and the ram broke into tiny splinters. He came forward, only for a giant fist to greet his tan face.

He managed to duck below it, taking advantage of the Majin form's superior height to evade.

Corrupted knuckles cracked the stone wall, and Vergil looked back over his shoulder.  
Baul had summoned one of his blades, it flew across the battleground into his clutch.

With an eager stab, he plunged the blade through the devil's flesh. A scaly growl escaped the slayer's mouth, but he brought his entire arm back for a backhanded swing.

Stumbling backwards, gripping his jaw, the white devil ripped out his blade. Stepping away, he parried a stab from one of Vergil's arm blades.

He drove it off to the right as he crunched his jaw back into place, and began testing it, opening his mouth and closing.  
It was clicking repeatedly, but it was mostly back in place now. He placed his hand out, and the other weapon came to him.

He caught it just in time as the slayer came at him with another downward slash.

Blocking with the other blade, he managed to carry the momentum of the sword's journey into a rightward swing at the Majin's waist.

He missed, Vergil having darted backward suddenly. Rushing forward in the same second, he pushed forward his elbow superhumanly fast.  
The attack caught the white devil off guard, and he careened off into a headstone. His face went right through the plaque, collapsing half of it while the rest remained to catch his fall.  
He sat there draped over it, dazed and confused. Groaning, he lifted his head as black claws closed around his hair and lifted him up. Red rage ripped through his chest.

Vergil forced his crimson spike forward, tearing a hole into the man.

Retracting the blade when satisfied, Vergil battered the man's back with another punishing welt.  
He crashed into the gates head first, traveling in a straight line over the entirety of the churchyard.

The chains rattled and snapped, breaking free against his weight.

Blood poured liberally from the man's forehead, a new gash formed within his flesh. Forcing himself up, he pushed his arms against the ground, yet they trembled.

Sweat poured off his body, the mere act of moving now a chore.  
He thought back on the things he'd done, trying to recall what lead him here.

A foot landed on the back of his head, his nose broke against the ground a second later. Lifted again by his jacket, he felt something welt his stomach.  
Another fist. His eyes widened and he slowly drifted down to the ground on his feet. Clutching his stomach, saliva and blood slowly fell out of his lips.

"N-no . . ." He choked on air, ". . . This- this wasn't how it was supposed to be . . . !"

Vergil's left hand raised itself and smacked the man across the face, contorting it as if crushed against glass. He fumbled over, staying afoot but rickety.  
Another back hand hit him across the side of the other cheek, Vergil's right hand this time. He turned to the other side now, a cut left on his cheek.

More followed, Vergil's hooks ruthless as he kept up the backhands for another fifteen feet.

He smashed through every boundary, his hatred twisting all he was into a lunatic fringe obsession, the circle of destruction crushing down every retort.

Modeus stood watching, his fingers twitching. He knew if he did anything, Vergil would kill him without remorse. But . . .

That was still his brother.

Through the haze and through the broken gates wolves roared. Some of them were looking at the battles in the sky, the surging winds and the threatening rains.

Slowly, more and more corrupted dogs crept into the graveyard, observing the one-sided fight without aggression.  
So slow they did not even attract Modeus's initial attention, he suddenly realized they had surrounded them all too late.  
Drawing his crimson sword, they charged toward the man in black, no longer a spectator.

Modeus's eyes shimmered red, a blinding aura overtook him in an instant as he shouted, "Et sanguis sanguinem meum et vocavi te!"

From within the fog, a demon was summoned. Faceless he was, with a long tail like a great serpent, and the legs of a large dog.

"Ronove, I request your aid." He spoke to the behemoth.

No words need to be traded, it simply nodded and charged at the man's enemies, conjuring great winds to force them all to float.  
In the blink of an eye, it smashed them all to bits, thrashing its giant fists down like mallets on meat; a powerhouse of energy.

Modeus stood beside it, warning it not to attack the slayer as the devil pummeled away at Baul.

More came, and more felt the wrath of Ronove, flung across diseased air upon sculptures so hideous, the beast's battery unmatched.  
On the walls, they leaned outward, screaming and shaking, their blood spilling all over the stone surface of the great gargoyles.

Sparda's other pupil was behind now, no matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to just fall away.

A great brute of a demon by most standards, he seemed tiny, weak and brittle in the terrifying company of Vergil's ill humor.  
Baul still stood on his feet somehow, the beating endless and soul-crushing. Nonetheless, he found the will to stay afloat.  
The rolling heads drove him to madness, poor creatures undeserving of this harsh end. The wolves were beings he did not know he had to protect till now.

The man in white knew something very odd was at play, the wretch before him wasn't anything like the ailing boy he'd crushed into the ground sometime ago.

One child couldn't be the reason for this, it was like he was fighting a different person.

Placing his hands together like a prayer, Baul seemed to mutter incoherently pure gibberish as Vergil loomed close by, stalking closer and closer.  
After a moment, a bright white circle flashed around the man, lighting up a runic pentagram on the ground around him.  
The white devil's eyes came alive as he forced both palms outward towards his enemy, releasing a ginormous burst of blue flames.

The wave impacted the surface of the Majin's skin and birthed a catastrophic explosion, surging flames searing past all others in the now-crowded cemetery.

Modeus had barely managed to seek cover behind a crypt.  
Ronove hadn't even looked around to see the flames, nor had the wolves.

The grounds were blackened by the war machine: fire, an ancient tool.

When the smoke cleared, Vergil still stood unchanged, unmoved.

Great deadly wounds inflicted onto Vergil's flesh closed before Baul's eyes. The speed of it was greater than any demon he'd ever faced.

It was like looking into hell whenever those eyes glared at him.

" _Nevermore . . ._ " Vergil grumbled, absentminded.

Rushing forward with a sonic wave, the slayer brought his brimstone fist around once more, and he bashed the swordsman's face in.  
Baul hadn't even had time to react, taking the full brunt of the raging bull as his body collided against hallowed walls.

He grimaced, collapsing against the wall he'd just crashed into. The man lurched helplessly on the wall of the church, using it like a crutch.

Baul was merely dragging water now, barely any kind of vanity remained.

Vergil was brooding silently, stomping forward an unholy magnificence to signal it was time to die.  
Raising his right hand, he prepared to deliver the final strike. Clenching his claws closed, he released the vermillion blade from his arm.  
But it only hit bricks.

At the last possible moment, Baul jerked his head to the left and the stab missed him by just a hair.

Turning his right hand out, he summoned one of his heavy blades to him and slashed forward as hard as he could.

It bounced off the Majin's abdomen with a resounding clang.

Baul stumbled back again, his tired body leaning against the church.

Vergil stood there and taunted him with a stare. He knew he could kill him, he just wanted to bask in that fact.  
A dark chuckle escaped Vergil's lips, and soon, more followed like a string; like tortured birds strung up on a wire.

His black wings of death relaxed by his side, seeming so gentle in the nights torrid commotion, seeking soul empowerment.

"You blind coward." He spoke amid his chuckles, "I was _bred_ for killing without care."

Baul seemed to accept it, slowly joining in the laughter.

He placed his left hand against the brick wall behind him and slowly built up some kind of power. Mystic energy came back to the front of his palm.

So confident, the slayer's confidence soared with each arrogant chortle.

The laughter continued and when Vergil decided it was time to strike, Baul hissed, "I got you!"

And from his hidden hand came a bright gate that shined blinding light into the slayer's eyes, so bright it burned his skin like the sun.  
Baul launched ravenous blows all down the Majin's side, hacking away at the devil from his shoulder down to his shin.  
He continued hacking and slashing until a great pool of blood formed beneath him, the devil's own blood a sign of renewal in the duelist's confidence.

Cleaving through the son of Sparda's paranormal armor, Baul punctured Vergil's ribs, the steel splintering bone apart as it lacerated fiendish innards.

Then came the last chop, threshed even deeper inside.

The slayer spat out a spray of black blood across Baul's face, the substance beginning to burn him as the man recoiled.

This wouldn't crush his will, not now.  
The swordsman shouted a feral grunt.

"You _must_ _die_! I have to kill you." Baul growled, breathless.

Thunder shook the air in a roar that made their voices almost vanish. The smoke and fog cracked open to reveal a pantheon of stars in the sky, unfettered by the city's lights.  
Four suns lit themselves brighter than any other in the cosmos above, and brilliant, divine rays scattered between them, forming solid lines of radiance until the shape became clear.

A cross.

It shined in the sky, spreading it's light from the south down upon them all, all the wolves, all the humans, all sinners and all innocents.

Screams surged, frantically howling cries rising together to become a funeral symphony.

From the very fabric of the sky, tremendous bolts of lightning struck down and centered into the Majin, who rose his arms up as if he'd created this scene.  
The thunder grew even louder, so loud it pierced ear drums and blood flowed freely from the lugs. Electric bolts striking his body increased their frequency.  
More and more they continued to strike down on him, as if he were the focal point of all God's retribution.

Finally, the voltaic procession came to a close with a triumphant bellow from the devil, and dark winds raged out the smell of death.

A galvanic blast erupted from his black form and tore the ground to shreds, flecks of dirt and rotten corpses flew in all directions, accompanied by crumbling head stones.

Baul gazed blankly, all emotions vanishing as the wave of raw power engulfed him and spat him out through the cathedral's mural.

Modeus maintained his cover and closed his eyes, the light so bright it burned him as well.  
Waves of electricity scattered themselves all across the city, street lamps blew themselves out and generators malfunctioned.  
A massive shock wave blew out from the necropolis, blowing out building windows like tissue paper.

It left nothing the same, all things had fundamentally shifted.

At the epicenter stood Vergil in his human form, the Majin burned away.  
The soil so disturbed, it was as if some cataclysmic war had just swept right on through.

The man was wholly relaxed.

All manner of wolf and man had been beholden to the strange event, wondering what it had brought.

Modeus knew that sign, the one created in the skies so briefly.

The storm resumed itself, closing all around them in the skies, and soon, colossal rains began to pour.  
Water bore down mercilessly upon the heart of the city, pounding on the rooftops and turning the cobbled streets of the downtown district into a warren of slick stones and muddy rivers.  
The temperature nosedived, crashing harder than any meteor or stock could even hope to. Through the air crept this frigid sense of lifelessness, the end of all things free.

A familiar sight in the cathedral was made hazy by a bone-chilling mist that settled back down, clinging to every surface.

"Vergil . . . ?" Modeus whispered, his eyes tried to stay fixed, but the mist became so thick he could no longer locate the halfling.

What happened?

From within, the slayer appeared ever so slowly, sauntering towards his father's student.

Modeus himself couldn't speak.

The man from the fog had bloodshot eyes that twitched uncomfortably under his mess of silver hair, stained with blood.  
Crimson veins climbed his crooked neck beneath his corruptive grin. His red and black clothes remained, perfectly stitched back to their original quality, as if never torn or stabbed.

"This isn't ideal, but it will work." He said, his voice not his own. It was cruel and vicious, but all too familiar, "Such fools, all of you. He could never have stopped this."

"Wh-what?" The man in black asked.

"Baul was never quite that bright, but I admit, I missed his mistakes. Even I couldn't account for how gullible you all are." 'Vergil' said.

Thoughts began connecting themselves inside Modeus' head, ". . . Who are you!?" He yelled.

"It should be obvious by now." The slayer replied, and another cross appeared again, glowing its four points before the bottom disappeared, leaving three in a triangle, "The ruse is over, old boy."

It couldn't be.

No.

How?

"M-Mundus . . . " The man whispered, trembling, "This- This is impossible!"

The man from the darkness could only smile.

"Mmm, it _does_ feel good to hear the name again." Mundus said as he rolled his arms back and loosened up his spine, "I've finally returned, overdue."

Everything about the man was different, he stood totally relaxed, as if he held no fear at all within him.

"There were some hiccups, but you all came through with flying colors. I couldn't have asked for a grander set of oafs." He continued.

"What? _What?_ " Modeus murmured, "No-no-no, no, no, no," The man rubbed his temples, "How could I-. . . How could I have let this happen?"

Mundus simply laughed at him.

"You honestly didn't see it? All the signs were there. His failing memory, his odd headaches, that black shadow standing behind him that you and Manah both saw . . .  
Who else could have reawakened the wolves? Only those with the will of Sparda can do that, as it happens, I now fit that distinction. It was amazing watching you all play right into it.  
I didn't even have to try, everyone just assumed it was because of the nature of his return, he still had some 'kinks' to iron out. How do you think he even came back to begin with?"  
Mundus closed his eyes and held up Vergil's fists by his side.

Modeus fell back on the ground, "No! _No!_ "

"Deny my presence as much as you want; you failed humanity, you failed your master. I have returned to reap all that you and that bastard have sown." The Devil said, measured and controlling.

It made sense now, it _all_ made sense.

This was why the wolves had activated, this was the cause for all that had happened. Vergil had _never_ been free of Mundus to begin with.  
It was in front of his face the entire time, yet Modeus couldn't see it. The Dark Prince had risen again, his completed sigil made to burn in the sky.

"There's one thing I want you to know before I begin . . . You could've stopped me at _any_ _time_." The Dark Lord told him.

"No . . . No . . ." Modeus cried.

Baul was right, he knew of this and had been trying to stop it. He was the good guy, not Modeus, they should have been working together. To think, it was only words away.  
But they could never communicate. It was the sibling's curse, to forever fight one another, rather than band together for the betterment of all.  
Now there was no one, no person who could stop him, no hero who could win the day, for the hero and the villain were simply one and the same.

'If you really are like our old master, you must be thinking of what should be done . . .' Clearly not.

No.

This wasn't fair.

A new feeling emerged inside Modeus, a kind of purity he couldn't describe. It wasn't the urge to save someone, nor the call to duty.

He just felt the urge to _beat the ever-loving shit out of him_.

Trembling turned to tension, chattering teeth became clenched, and a whimpering coward transformed into a headstrong warrior.  
The man got to his feet, pulling his cardinal broadsword from nowhere as he took note of his summoned creature's demise.  
Adorning an old samurai's pose, he rested the blade in front of him, gripped with both hands, and he settled his hips and knees into a strong, mountainous stance.

"No. I've let so many things out of my reach . . . _No more_ _!_ I will _not_ let you **_get away with this!_** " Modeus's voice rose to a guttural scream.

In a blur, he tore across the ground, bringing his blade down to try and crush the demagogue's skull.  
A red energy splashed and the force edge greeted his blade. Vergil's face looked at him and smirked.

Modeus always hated that.

"Come and try." Mundus spoke through.

"Rah!" The man screamed as he broke away, bringing the sword around to Mundus side, but the devil just adjusted his grip and swerved the edge around, their steels clashing again.

Moving fluidly into natural strikes from here, Modeus enlisted an aggravating number of strikes to a quick-paced flurry, but the devil king just yawned and fenced him off with one hand.  
Metal on metal crashed against each other again, but this time, Mundus redirected the man's attempt off to the side and hauled out with a front kick to his ribs.  
It knocked the wind out of him, throwing Modeus to the ground like a rag doll. It felt like his mid section had liquefied. Undeterred, the man kicked up to his feet and struck rightward.

Sparda's blade devoured the belligerence once more, fluxing back an indigo compression blast that blew the red brand back around so hard the man nearly lost his grip.

Savage tactics bit their target and Mundus plunged the blade into Modeus's gut. The very tip pierced through the man's abdomen but traveled no further.  
Unexpectedly, the dark pupil caught the weapon with his left hand, bearing the pain for long enough to force the sword back out.

Stumbling backwards, the let his cut palm hang open to the side as his stomach bled. Mundus stood back and beat on his own gut, mocking the wound.

Baring his teeth, Modeus came back with a wild stab, but the crooked daemon stepped aside and ran the Force Edge along the side of his opponent's neck.  
'Almost decapitated' was a new sensation Modeus disliked very much. He felt the air from his windpipe exit a new slit in the side of his scrag.

He coughed, and the possessed slayer completed the motion with a heel into his back, sending the man flying forward on his face.

The man in Vergil's body swung the blade around with traditional form and loosened up his wrist.  
Looking into the chrome polish, he derided the reflection as a visage he hated, though it would do as far vessels went.

He heard a groan from the ground and looked back to his enemy.

"Had enough yet?" Mundus said.

Climbing back up, Modeus used his sword to help himself stand, and the man spat out blood to the side.

At least the wound on his hand was beginning to close. The cuts made with Sparda's sword were known to last far longer than ones made with the average devil arm.  
He felt like giving up, truth be told, but he knew he couldn't. It was a pointless stand taken a against a hidden enemy he should've pre-empted somehow.  
Though tired, he struck another stance and answered the question posed with a yell as he charged forward with another swing of his blade, receiving a counter of a million stabs.  
The blade must've passed through him that many times, as he felt violence drench him in pain, one cut adorning his right cheek, thousands more incising themselves through his chest.  
Another swipe of the blade and he knew it slashed the instep of his left calf.

He truly embodied the word 'useless,' like a piece of unwanted trash that was finally getting taken out after years of horrid decay, soon to be forgotten in life's miserable atrium.

In all of that, however; he never felt his master's old blade run through him fully. Mundus was just playing with him. When the salvo ceased, Modeus earned another kick, this time straight to his face.

Meters away, the grass welcomed him.

Still he stood back up.

"Amazing. You keep standing even though you know it is pointless. Why?" The Lord asked him.

Modeus clenched his fists tight around the handle and resolved to finish the fight somehow.

"Because I have to. If I don't, who will?" He said to him, adjusting his stance to Ko Gasumi, the hilt parallel to his cheek, gripped with both hands,, his feet perpendicular, and his knees lightly bent.

Sparda taught him all that he knew of swordsmanship. It was about time he made use of it.

"You poor, weak thing," The devil king taunted him, "You couldn't do anything without Sparda."

Modeus stood proudly, holding this position vehemently, panting as rain drops slid down his face.

A storm that had built up over the last month had come to fruition, ebony clouds reforming themselves before this fight had begun.  
It was no ordinary storm, it was blackened by vengeance and hatred, the roiling tumult of a life wasted rotting on a burning throne.

"My brother was right to try to kill Vergil. He knew, before it was too late." Modeus replied.

"Hmph, yes, he was the perfect foil in the end." Mundus agreed, "You should have stuck with your code, this is all because you chose to intervene."

"Yes. I've made many mistakes. I remained blind to horrible lies until they could no longer be unbound. I chose to intervene where it was not my place or time to do so.  
But that's why I'm fighting. There's a lifetime of mistakes and wasted potential inside, and I must redeem myself for the things I've done!" Modeus yelled as he charged off to war anew.

Bombarded with a sonic shower of sword strikes, Mundus was forced to a grander defense though he still never used more than one hand.  
Eventually, he pushed into a counter and forced the opposing blade to circle around him, stopping at eye-level to his left just as the pupil reached back his right hand and fell to the ground.  
With one deft maneuver, Modeus balanced all his weight on terra firma with his right hand, launching his left leg up at the devil king's face. His boot punted Mundus square across the jaw.

The silver-haired dictator stumbled back, his guard down.

Pushing off his right hand instantly, the dark swordsman flowed back to his feet like someone had reversed the footage of a long fall.  
Back on his feet again, he squared up and swung straight forward over his head with all his brawn, slicing through the rain itself.

There was a slight noise and the man felt a tug at the edge of his weapon before it stopped.  
So focused on execution he had been staring at his own hilt, Modeus looked back up at 'Vergil.'

He had his fist against the blade, catching the bash with his bare hand.

Looking back at him, bloodless, he smirked again, shoving the sword back up towards Modeus chest, the man refusing to let go.  
Modeus's own armament cut into him as the devil bulldozed him back off his feet, flying through the sky's tearing downpour.

The earth had become slippery, soaked by rains not of this world. He slid on impact, dragging and rolling along till he finally stopped.

"An excellent attempt." Mundus commented.

The man in black laid there, spitting out dirt while the blurry world spun around him.

* * *

 **. . . The red soul awoke somewhere, far away from the world . . .**

* * *

"Where am I?" Vergil said, staring out into a black void.

"Is this another trick?" His voice rung out.

He tried to move but his limbs weren't there. They'd gone away.

Something had taken his sight, taken his speech, taken his legs, arms, and ears, even his flesh.  
The world was gone, all he was left with was himself, his thoughts, and a void: one.

"Ulmarag . . . ? Is this your doing!?" He yelled out, hearing it echo but not feeling himself say it, "Show yourself!"

No response.

Oblivion silence.

" _Answer me!_ " He bellowed, but it was no use. No one would answer.

Time passed on, so slowly. Eventually, he gave up screaming. His threats went unanswered eternally, no one was there to here it.  
So he carried off the screams till silence returned, and silence did come back so swiftly, he had no recourse from this terrible emptiness.

So, he tried to speak again.

"Hello?" He heard himself say, "Is anyone here?"

Once more, there was no reply.

" . . ." He bid his time, where ever he was. Someone would come . . . soon.

So many eons without any kind of sense of being, just his own consciousness in some void, not even drifting anywhere. He'd been in the cemetery, battling Baul.  
That's right, Baul was there. Modeus was watching. Good, he hadn't interfered in there fight, at least not that he recalled, but something was missing between then and now.  
He couldn't remember anything and he couldn't even tell if this was unreality or just a dream.

"Baul!" He screamed out suddenly, "Baul, you will taste your own blood! I'll get out of here and sever your damned head!"

Maybe he hadn't called the right name, the thought occurred to him.  
So he screamed and screamed again, calling for his foe's blood.

. . . And still no response came to him, only his own voice morbidly echoing back to him distorted.

He trailed off his rampaging thoughts, wondering where he had gone to. What happened to his body? There was no sense of control, there was no sense of feeling.  
A terrifying epiphany entered his head as he realized too, there was no heartbeat here. He had nothing, he felt nothing, and he was nothing.  
Playful little thoughts came into being, inviting chaos as he began to lose his grip. Panic set in, anger subsided, and he began to scream for anyone.

"Modeus, you bastard, let me out of here!" His voice reverberating out, "I swear on my father's life I'll rip out your throat!"

No word back for the little man.

"Manah!" He raged at the darkness, "You damn pest, just wait till I find you!"

Self haunted the lone regions, his words reached nowhere.

"Tony! You little creep!" He screamed, "Where are you hiding?"

Rats, rats, rats; the emptiness gnawing him just like rats.

"L-Lady!" He cried, begging, "Where are you!? Let me out! _Please_ let me out!"

Nothing at all.

"Dante!" He growled, "You rotten weasel, I'll spit on your grave! _Where are you!?_ "

No.

"Patty . . ." His screams turned to anguished yelps, "Someone."

* * *

 **. . . A vision broke across his view, echoing horribly, it was only brief . . .**

* * *

 **Vergil didn't even have the strength to look at the coin. He slipped it in a pocket and collapsed over on the floor, slamming face first.**

 **The morning light reflected upon the back of his hair as he lay asleep, but his fingers began to twitch.**

 **Red eyes opened and he slowly rose up, another person's sight looking out of his skull. He looked over to his servant's haggard apertures, awaiting his bidding.**

 **A jagged smirk surfaced.**

 **Fog gathered around the eyes in front of the desk, and from within it, Ulmarag stepped. The Sandman kneeled.**

 **"My lord."**

 **'Vergil' shook his head . . . Annoyed by this, "Cease the theatrics, you know what must be done. The order have been depending on you. They must acquire Dante's body today."**

 **"Yes, Mundus." The Sandman said as he vanished.**

* * *

 **. . . So, now he knew the truth . . .**

* * *

"No . . ." He whispered in the dark.

It all went clear.

"I-. . ." Vergil realized, bodiless, "I was _never_ free. Dante was just a bystander. A servant till I fall . . ."

Lunacy had found him, clung to him like an old flame.

His rage burned nowhere, and though the blind prisoner had no mouth, he had to scream.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

 **Thank you for reading everyone, this was one hell of a chapter to write and I hope you enjoyed it.**

 **What do you think of the twist? :)**

 **Guest: I wanted to do something like this to be honest with you, but I already did this with his search for Dante and I wanted to move the plot and reveal the twist as I Planned.**

 **..Thank you fan for informing me. The more I hear about the game the less excited I become, to be honest, but we will see...it won't be long now.**

 **Thank you StableGenius TR, Tell me about it. Just why would they do that, seriously...?**

 **Thank you Turbo Sexaphonic, Yeah. I should probably try to stop worrying about that and just keep moving and working in this.**

* * *

 **Beta Reader Note: For those confused, the first two scenes are set in the aftermath of the third, sort of like this idea of reverse chronology.  
The chapter was written to Battery and Disposable Heroes, both by Metallica, and Blunt Force Trauma by Damageplan.  
Drag The Waters by Pantera makes a return here, as does Metallica's Of Wolf And Man. Tried to give this chapter thematic resonance with previous ones.**

 **Also yeah, big twist – I know. The signs were there, this was something planned from the very, very, very beginning of this story and we worked super hard on the execution.  
It had to be just right if it was going to work properly, and I hope it has. I've got no expectations for this, mostly because I just haven't seen it really done much before.**

 **Anyway, that's all I have to say on this chapter, hope y'all enjoyed it.**


	25. Chapter 25 Shape of Despair

**Chapter 25 ~ Shape of Despair**

* * *

Lady could see lights, the glowing embers leaping and twirling in a fiery dance, all twinkling like stars above. The churning air was hot, and she saw the embers cascade to earth like gleeful fire fiends.

Once she entered the cemetery, the sight before her overwhelmed.

Snow fell, but only here in this place, accompanied by the charred remains of a battlefield, perhaps suggesting the snow to be ash.  
Tombstones desecrated, massive stains of blood pooled around the ground, and all at once a shiver rolled across her spine.  
Tree's lay smashed and broken across the churchyard, and up on mountain high, the murals of the cathedral had been shattered through.

Before her, Modeus's body crashed to the ground, crushed and broken. The wind in his face made it impossible to breathe. He fell on his face moaning from agonizing pain, barely able to lift himself up.

Right ahead of him stood Vergil with menacing eyes beyond all that she'd ever seen him exhibit before.

"What's . . . going on!?" She whispered.

Once Vergil looked at her, she couldn't help but feel compelled to fear. Something wasn't right, the one looking at her did _not_ resemble Vergil.

Gone were the deep baby blues he shared with his brother, and gone was the red hatred of his rage.  
Now in their place were eye's of silver, ones that she did not alone comprehend.

"Welcome, 'Lady Prostitute.'" He chuckled, walking slowly toward her, "Are you here for a second round of fornication with your little man-whore?"

She was going to lose her temper if he kept talking that way. Immediately, his voice put her on guard, and she maintained a considerable distance from him.  
Taking one step back, she reached beneath her poncho and rested her quickdraw hand on her personal pistol. The rain drenched both of them to the bone.

"Wh-What do you mean? Why are you saying that?" She asked him.

"Aw, could it be? Were you really so blinded by lust as to not understand what goes on before you?" The man told her, "Vergil spoke of love inside this head, delusions of grandeur."

Lady pulled her Beretta and aimed the sight straight at his head.

"Who are you!?" She yelled at him, the past informing her that who she saw before her was not necessarily who they looked like.

His face was so much paler than before, to the point of translucency, a million veins running through his face.  
Then, it hit her, the man in the tan cloak. The 'strange man' had a description very similar to how Vergil looked now, and only then did it dawn on her.  
 _He_ had been the one to activate the shrine, _he_ had somehow gained control of the wolves, Jester was just a distraction, a clever ploy.

"It was you?" She said, her pitch low, " _You_ are the one who hid inside that shrine and spread fear across the outskirts of town."

"You're a perceptive scar, but that is merely one facet of my divine plan." 'Vergil' mocked her.

O mother, the pain this one man had inflicted upon her, both knowingly and unknowingly.  
Did that change her perception of the man? She had yet to even understand who this was.

Lady grimaced and wished more than anything to burn him to pieces . . . and yet, this was still Vergil.

"I have no time for your stupidity." His voice changed into a wholesome, angry creature.

He displayed a weapon she was more familiar with, the Force Edge. He circled the blade in his hands, as though the broadsword held no weight.  
Lady felt fear weaken her resolve, and her knees twitched, threatening to tremble. Still, she stole herself and tried to make sense of this mess.

"What happened to you, Vergil?" Her voice almost broke.

"Hmph," The man said and shrugged, holding his arms out at his sides, "Your guess is as good as mine, I can't seem to find him in here anymore."

The calloused replacement for the man she already was struggling to know came about once more while she wasn't even aware.

Her teeth clenched as anger overtook her, she cursed under her breath.  
She heard herself let out a shrill cry, and then she reached back for Kalina Ann, slinging the large missile launcher off her back to her side.  
Pressing on the trigger, the missile launched and he stood still, almost as though he didn't have an understanding of what it was.

The air contorted around him, and he felt the blazing flames of the weapon as it exploded.

Engulfed in shrapnel and fire, her view of him vanished and she waited for a result.

The fine embers billowed away and spread out, and from the epicenter emerged 'Vergil' unharmed. He admired his untouched reflection in the blade as he walked on.

"Oh, you're going to need something much stronger than that, low creature." He spoke coldly, and charged the Force Edge forward in a stinger.

Sliding across the field, he almost tore right through her, though the woman instinctively dodged off to her right, rolling away with her arms positioned behind her.  
Lady tried to sprint forward, away from the mad man, but 'Vergil' quickly seized her right wrist in an abrupt death-grip. Horrible pain ran through her arm, and she felt to scream.  
Her foe seemed to relish her pain, torturing her simply for his own amusement. And in all that, she was amazed her arm didn't snap.

The man shook her violently left and right, throwing Lady about like a marionette. He laughed, she nearly cried.

Using the bayonet of her missile launcher, she jammed the barrel at his face, and to her luck, it worked. He cringed and hurled her off a few feet.  
She slid across the ground but managed to stop herself, crawling back onto her feet as she saw the man stride toward her.

His wound had healed fast, nearly closing completely.

She drew her Uzi and fired nonstop at his face, content to brute-force her way through him for the pain he caused her.

The bullets peppered him and did nothing, falling away from his flesh compressed.

Grimacing, 'Vergil' flashed forward and swiped upwards with the force edge, slicing the gun in two. She looked flatly at the handle of her pistol as a hand grabbed her jacket's lapel.  
Hoisted off her feet, she had to contend with a hand around her throat, and in a moment, she was dangling off the ground. She hung in the air a solid foot off the ground, choking.

Finally, the rage took over, and she grasped her combat knife, plunging it through the man's thick forearm.

Grunting, he maintained his hold, and soon, she began to punch and kick and thrash against him. Every conceivable attack accompanied by the increasing shade of red across her face.

Why had he not chosen to stab her with that blade? He didn't seem interested in killing her so soon.

Then, she drew Ivory.

A bullet pierced his chest, and he reeled back, dropping her. The man gasped for air as she choked and coughed, rubbing her own afflicted throat.

He saw the weapon.

"You dare!? You dare use the dead man's tools against me!?" He said, launching a stab at her waist.

Using the barrel of the gun, she guided the sword off to the side and threw a punch to the bullet wound. His face crinkled and he seized her once more by the throat with his right hand.

She felt her feet leave the ground, this same stupid routine.

The wound in his chest was lasting longer than the others, and it spurted blood as he realized this body had a weakness.  
Lacking the strength to keep her strangled, he threw her away, and she rolled back onto her feet effortlessly.

Enraged, he slashed his old foe's namesake in her direction, and a red shockwave rocketed towards her. Somehow, she dodged to the side, and so he sent out another.

This one was horizontal, and as she began making her way back toward him, she slid under the slice, missing the deadly drive by just an inch as it trimmed hairs off her fringe.

Maintaining her momentum, she twisted and dispersed her momentum, rolling forward at him, and when she was upright again, she launched herself, pushing her feet against the ground.

She unloaded as much as she could using Dante's old weapon. Two shots struck his left arm.

They stung him viciously and he lost clarity, staggering backwards. Lady landed on her side and knew she had to keep moving.  
The demon king zoomed across the field and put 'Vergil's' boot into her ribs. She spat blood as she flew through the air sideways.

The world spun so fast she barely knew where she was going and she hit the ground some twenty meters away, landing by a damaged tomb entrance.

That one kick felt like a car crashed into her mid-section. The woman didn't know yet if it put her out of commission already.

Groaning, she tried to move and felt air in her lungs stifle, she had a fracture. Brilliant.

Footsteps stalked her slowly.

"You want to hear what happened to your little crush before I killed him?" A question that made her lose all willpower.

"He was literally begging for the life of his brother. How sad. The miserable apes tried to kill one another over and over, yet he continued to care for this imbecile I inhabit before you now.  
Dante realized that he was at the verge of death. Finally, he couldn't win. It took the devil-king to put Sparda's lineage in it's place, and now I can hear his protestation from the grave as we speak."  
He continued, "If only Vergil were here, the sweet suffering would bring a tear to your eye. He was always a sensitive boy, and now he has come home."

Lady's head tried to process what the man was saying.

Though Vergil was the body, the voice speaking was not his own, nor were his words.

Then, it clicked in her head.

* * *

His **name is Mundus. He imprisoned me that night, after the tower . . .**

 ** _He_ is the one who murdered Dante.**

* * *

"Y-You . . ." She murmured.

He looked down at her.

"Yes, _me_."

"Mundus . . ."

The devil moaned and grinned, taking in the name as though it were just as pleasurable as sex. She heard his body settle itself, cracking in odd places.

" _Yeeees . . ._ Finally, someone speaks my name again." The devil spoke.

"I-. . . I heard about you." She heaved the words, "But-. . ."

Mundus laughed, enjoying every minute, "I love the realization, the pure fear in their eyes when it dawns on them."

"Geh," She made this noise as she tried to adjust, feeling horrid pain in her ribcage, and then she yelled, "What do you want with him!?"

"Oh, you already know the answer to that." He said, mocking her intelligence.

" _Bullshit!_ " She screamed, despite feeling breathless, "Why did you possess him?"

"Oh, I see. You believe that this is a new development . . ." He knelt down beside her and place his hand on the side of her anguished face, "I've been here the entire time."

"What!?" She wheezed.

"Every moment of his waking life, and the times when he believed he was sleeping, I've been here. I have _always_ been with him, ever since he returned."

Now she understood it.

"H-He . . . He was never free?"

Mundus slowly chuckled, and the smile on his face grew as she despaired.

"I will have much fun showing you the shape of despair after I take this world by storm."

Lady's face was hidden by her hair, but her face screamed rage. Mundus was complacent before her, and so she took an opportunity.

She brought Ivory up to his face and squeezed the trigger, aiming straight at his forehead.

As if he were psychic, the man ripped the gun out of her hands the very instant she raised it to him and bashed it across her face.  
Mundus was known for cruelty, and he was also known for vindication. It wasn't wise to cross him, but who said human's were ever wise?  
Lady had been doomed from the start, and now she knew her eventual fate. Perhaps she hadn't changed it.  
She reflected on what she'd been shown by Brad, that formless vision of the future, and believed it had come not to pass.

"I'm sorry . . ." She said.

"My pet, it's too late for apologies. You must serve me first before I give you release."

"I'm sorry . . . -Vergil." She spoke aloud.

The smile on Mundus's face faltered, "He can't hear you, he's no longer here."

She remained defiant.

"Vergil," She said, now barely audible, "I-I'm sorry."

* * *

 **Trapped in a world he never made, his mind had lost it's focus. It was a torment like nothing else.**

* * *

He knew there was light somewhere. He couldn't find it. This place was hopeless, all light existed millions of miles away.  
And now here, he could only think on his sins, the lives he'd taken in his pursuit of power and the faulty redemption he sought under his brother's moniker.  
What kind of man would take his own kin's belonging's after death? Surely, he'd been morally bankrupt long before now, it was only recently that he saw it.

The graveyard . . . Of course.

"Meet your doom upon the headstones indeed."

Once in a while, the blackness would react to his mind, and he saw the face of someone he'd loved in life, all those he had betrayed at some point or another.

Every time he reached out to that someone, a person he hoped would stay, he sunk a little lower. He now knew the pain of abandonment, the pain he'd left Helena in.

It was a cycle, his father had left him, and soon so had his mother and brother, though not of their conscious choice.  
Then he left them, left them both to their own devices as he knew they cared little for him, or at least thought so.  
But worse yet, he left her. He left her in that town, and now they all had left him again. Lust for power had hardened his heart and frozen his emotions.

It was all over. Mundus had won.

Out of nowhere, he started to hear muffled voices in the distance.

Slowly but surely he began to see the world again, but it wasn't the one he knew. The scenery was dark and murky.  
It was as if everything that had existed in the human world was now at the bottom of the sea.  
In this shadow realm, he saw himself mercilessly beating Modeus to the ground, using all manner of weapon.

He couldn't do anything still, as he continually lacked any kind of 'self' to pilot. Perhaps Mundus had wanted him to see the damage that 'he' caused.

"You will fail, I will not break." Modeus sputtered.

"My work is soon done here." Mundus replied, "Let the suffering begin."

After a moment Lady appeared. The man in red saw her and Vergil groaned, "No."

There she was, defiant, and he saw her fight admirably. He found himself trying to tell her however he could, screaming in his own ears again as he tried to scream at her the revelation.  
Mundus beat her senseless and cornered her, and in the darkness he saw her laying there, broken as ever. Her will continued to take her farther and farther despite the damage.  
But here she was destroyed by the mad devil's revolution. Mundus would dominate all, if given the chance.

He continue to drone, defeated, "No . . . No, no . . ."

That human spirit was unending, and he knew that it would somehow push her beyond even this, if it could.  
He knew she would not be deterred, but how? Why? He never _did_ manage to grasp the basics of humanity.

The Cambion thought he had, at least enough to seem convincing, but that was all just a front. The facade was crumbling now, and he knew not what to do.

He saw the two converse, and he heard the words exchanged.

"Why." The man's mind whispered, so sullen, "What-. . . What are you doing here?"

Darkness swallowed his vision yet again, and he was left with his thoughts, back in the void of non-existence, wherever this place was.

"Vergil, I-I'm sorry."

He heard Lady's voice call out to him. And then, as had become habit, silence governed over all things.

* * *

She **awoke faster than a cat in ice-water, late at night, hearing disembodied voices laughing**.

* * *

They were stark and numerous, cackling in a broken, chaotic choir. Drowsiness get's folks killed and fast. Only the paranoid survive.

Just when Patty's eyes had adjusted to the dark cathedral, there came a brilliant flash that flickered and died.  
It was not a bolt of lighting that struck the earth, but more like an almighty flash of an asteroid that blanketed everything; all together, all at once.  
Moments later, there came the rumbling thunder, and right on cue, the rain began to fall haphazardly from the sky.

It sounded disparate, as if the sky wasn't entirely committed to pouring.

Then, somehow, it fell in great sheets, colossal rains flooding the earth to the point she could hear no other sound.

"Where am I?" She whispered.

The darkness weighed heavily on her shoulders, feeling as though it were alive, brooding and revolving over her. She couldn't identify anything around her beyond the murals.  
Inside was so dark that not even an LED fixture could let her see beyond her own hand. She was alone, and the depth of that loneliness made her more fearful than she ever knew she could be.

There was a smell of . . . _something_. It was a putrid odor, one she couldn't recognize.

"No . . ." She exhaled a very soft whisper, trying her hardest to push away these horrible feelings that overwhelmed her, "I have to be brave . . ."

She knew something was wrong when, at the smallest nudge of a bench, rats darted out from under the church pews.

They scattered in endless directions and she could hear them scamper. They ran out in droves, brown waves running all over as though they were pursued by a predator.  
She clenched her fists and started walking. The slightest sound would send her chest into orbit, but nonetheless, she kept on moving. Slowly but surely, she worked her way across the room.

. . .

When everything was quiet, she heard the chaotic winds outside rattling away at this old place.

. . .

Even the thick insulation couldn't protect anyone inside from the frigid temperatures.

. . .

A gigantic quake shook the very structure to it's basic foundation.

A sound came with it, something horrendous and huge, the kind of sound only something that was ancient was capable of.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her heart punching out of it's chest.

For a moment . . . she wondered if it was safe to even leave.

Wherein the world was she?

"Dante?" She whispered to herself and touched the cold, dusty handle, slowly turning the doorknob. She was soon to enter the field.

A man crashed through the central mural, bloodied and beaten.

She screamed and let go of the handle. The man's body crashed across the wood benches in the mortuary, having shattered a mural depicting Jesus Christ's crucifixion.  
Looking around was magnificent, as she saw the interiors of the church lit up by the massive storm outside. The abbey was ornate, made of white orchards and smooth stone.  
The massive, vaulted ceilings were a wonder of architecture, and she tried to steady herself. If only she could comprehend what was going on out there . . .

There, a statue of the son of God stood, nailed to a wooden cross.

His face looked forlorned and indifferent.

It was made of porcelain, and from it's eyes poured tears of blood, standing on the head of the aisle behind where the man had been forced through, and beneath was an altar to pray.

She had to hide, and she saw a confessional booth.

Thinking quickly, Patty rushed inside.

She closed the door and hid from her distributor of pain, Baul. The man in white had hidden her inside, and she did not know why.  
Things were quiet enough, but she didn't trust him farther than she could throw a dump-truck; which was to say, not far.

So, she sat inside, not making a sound, waiting and waiting.

The man had laid unconscious, and she continued to hear intense battles break apart the scenery outside, first the screams of another man what sounded like Modeus.  
He lasted long and fought hard, but was no match. He just wasn't powerful enough, spirit or not. She caught a whiff of that other smell again and saw the closed lattice-opening priests' used to talk.  
Hesitantly, she slid the hatch open, gulping as she closed her eyes, afraid. Inside were the two clergymen who cared for the monastery, one decapitated, the other impaled on a steel pipe.

She stifled a scream with her hands and fell back off the chair.

Her back hit the wall as she began to hyperventilate. The world around her almost blacked out entirely, though she regained her senses soon.

Baul had killed them, and now he was inside the church with her, alone.

Slowly, she began to clue into her surroundings again as she listened.

Baul groaned out to no one in particular — he was still alive.

Patty clasped her hand over her mouth again and shrunk in place, trying to somehow hide herself within the small compartment.  
She noticed a space under the chair inside. Could she fit? It was a desperate measure to begin with, now she was hedging bets on-

You know what, it's worth a shot given the present circumstances.

She quickly climbed underneath and curled into a ball. Thankfully, the space allowed just enough room for a small child like her.

She waited here, and waited.

Baul lumbered about as he tried to stand, muttering incoherent swears at a man named Vergil and Dante's father Sparda.

She heard Modeus struggle further outside before finally falling, and from the corner of her ear, she could just barely make out a woman speaking.  
Who had arrived next? She had no idea if Modeus was even still alive, he'd grown silent, and the man they'd been fighting seemed not be fighting anyone else.

Where was Dante?

Where was Manah?

None of this made sense, how much time had passed since she'd been taken? It seemed like ages went by, even though it couldn't have been too long.  
Had Baul place her within some sort of hexed sleep? Was she dead? No, her heartbeat was too fleet for that to be the case. The rain poured so hard still.

At least she could hear beyond the storm with the window shattered.

How long would she stay inside?

She had to make up her mind soon.

Creaking noises echoed out into the darkness as she pursed her lips and looked down. Baul's groans returned, growing closer and closer . . .  
Would he find her? She hoped to hell he wouldn't, and yet he drew further in, dragging himself across the grounds empty-headed.

At one stage, he scraped the door of the confessional itself, and Patty clenched her knees against her chest.

She whimpered to herself as she believed wholeheartedly this was the end.

And then he seemed to just disappear, there was no sign of him she could hear in the walls whatsoever.  
She waited for another moment, frozen. And then she let out a sigh as she realized he had simply gone.

The door opened.

Patty nearly squealed as Baul kneeled down, his face bloodied and his teeth bared at her. Seeing her, he growled, and she screamed as he grabbed the top of her hiding spot and tore upwards.

The chair came apart, splintering everywhere as she closed her eyes and ducked through his legs. Somehow, she made it through and quickly shut the confessional booth door behind him.

Bad call.

Running, she bolted forward, trying to reach the church's front doors. The white devil burst through the wooden barrier, growling mindlessly as he stalked after her.  
Looking back at him, she saw his enraged face and accelerated her pace, but this distraction proved ruinous. She stepped on some sort of debris and slipped and fell.  
She lost her bearing and her vision blurred as the steps to the foyer hit her forehead.

The world spun around her and she felt lightheaded as a man grabbed her ankle, Baul.

She screamed, and she put her free heel into his face.

It didn't stop him outright, so she kicked him again.

He let go of her and lurched back, yowling like a feral animal as he grabbed his face and fell backward, " _Aaaaaaah, eerrrrhh!_ "

She almost left him behind but something made her stay.  
The girl realized the man was in pain, and it saddened her.

No time to wait though, she turned around and ran to the door, managing to open it, and rushed out to see flashing lights.  
It was chaotic out there, and she was showered instantly as she saw two other wet figures, speaking to one another.

"Vergil," She said, now barely audible, "I-I'm sorry."

Mundus smiled and stroked her cheek, and he pat her head as though she were a lowly dog, a pet to abuse.

"Hm-hm, come now. Your father promised me a sweet concubine, not a bullheaded witch." The man told her.

So _that's_ what Jester meant. Well, that brought up an entirely new set of dilemmas.

A small girl ran at them, and yelled at Mundus, "Leave her alone! You'll _never_ get away with this."

Grinning, he stood and turned to her.

Dante.

Horrified Patty gasped to herself and resolved to end this madness.

"Dante? Dante, what are you doing?" She yelled.

Patty never felt so unsettled, she'd never seen him smile . . . ever.

Lady coughed blood onto the ground.

"What-. . . What have you done to her?" Patty pointed to Lady.

"Mmm." He grumbled, seeming amused by her presence.

"Dante, answer me!" She yelled, "What did you do to her, why are you doing this!?"

He seemed to simply laugh at her, and then she noticed his eyes.  
They were the wrong color, of what she'd seen of him.

Patty began to back away, and 'Dante' strode toward her, a pallid green energy peaking out from his eyes. She backed up against a headstone.

"What's wrong with you?" She cried, frightened.

Lady grimaced as she pushed herself with all the strength she could muster, lifting herself up off the ground and falling back against the mausoleum entrance.  
She grabbed Ivory and took aim at 'Vergil,' the arrogant master having left it beside her as he changed his focus. She spat blood on the ground and steadied her shaking hands.

"Patty!" She yelled.

Both looked back at her as she screamed, " _Run!_ "

She fired off a shell and it struck Mundus in the back.

"Ow." He yelled, annoyed, and quickly turned back to her, stomping across the broken battlefield.

She unloaded shot after shot as Patty took off running. She ran and ran, darting for the cemetery gates. 'Vergil' raged as he looked back at the girl and waved his hand.  
The doors shut themselves on the spot, the chains magically aligning themselves, whipping around the metal bars and binding themselves tightly across the old alloy.

Patty grabbed the gates and wrestled with them, trying desperately to break the open again, but she failed.

"No!" Lady yelled, and Mundus used the distraction to close the distance.

In a flash, the devil king forced her head back and covered her mouth with his right hand. Simultaneously, he used his left to force Ivory off to the side, and she fired in vain at the ground.  
The Lady mumbled, trying to say anything she could as he man-handled her wrist against the mausoleum. Holding down her right arm with that pesky weapon, there was only one solution.

She heard a crunch.

Lady's eyes widened and her wrist immediately began to throb. She stopped resisting him.

Mundus smiled as he heard her muffled screams from within his grasp, and wet hot tears streamed down her face.

Patty stood horrified, watching Lady's mangled wrist droop, broken.

'Dante' threw her to the ground as she bawled and cried, cradling her wrist while she laid on her back.  
The man seemed perfectly content with the outcome and he grudgingly relished the release of the bullets from his body. His regeneration finished, pushing the projectiles out.  
Lady was so tormented, it was the first time she'd had that bone broken. The type of pain it incurred was not something you ever really got over.

The man ridiculed her agony cruelly.

"Aw no tears, please," He pleaded, "You're wasting your suffering away."

She screamed at him, and with as much focus as she could, Lady thrash her boot-heel into Vergil's shin.  
He grunted but showed no pain, nor did he budge. He maintained that sadistic stare, eyeing her curves as he mulled over the possible decisions he could make.

" _Rah_!" Mundus heard a massive roar, and he looked back up. Baul charged at him and ran him through with one of his blades.

Panting and bleeding, the white devil dug the weapon in as far as he could while the dark lord growled and grasped the hilt.  
Mundus was enraged, though the damage meant nothing to him. This wouldn't have even killed Dante.

"You will be killed _by me_!" The wounded man spat.

He pressed into the devil king as hard as he could, using every mighty muscle, every little fiber of rage.  
The man pushed and pushed and pushed, driving as far forward as he could. Mundus would not move.

The king placed both hands around the weapon and tried to force it back out, but oddly, Baul resisted him. He growled in the devil's face, and the two warred in the middle of the cemetery.

Slowly but surely, the white devil forced the imposter backward, his boots grinding against the grass.

" _DIIIIEEEEE!_ " The man in white screamed.

Enraged, Mundus pressed both his hands together on the hilt and crushed the weapon in his grasp. The iron heated rapidly and expanded before it hit it's breaking point.  
The weapon shattered, sending shrapnel out like a hand grenade. Razor edges embedded themselves into Baul's chest and face, and he fell backward several feet.

Lady felt a piece jab her leg and she screamed harder, discovering the fragment was lodged in her knee.

Patty was thankfully far enough away that she felt no shrapnel, though she ducked out of instinct.

The wound in Mundus's chest closed itself automatically, and he looked down at his clothing. It was torn to shreds.  
Grimacing, he waved his hand again, and in a flash, his clothes were altogether repaired in an instant. Even the devil had standards.

He strode toward Baul, leaving Mary behind to whimper.

"Of all the things you've been hit with, of all the various methods of madness you've employed, you _still_ keep returning for more." Mundus said as he grabbed the barely living devil.

He lifted the man by his neck and held him up off the ground.  
Summoning Ifrit's left-handed gauntlet, he drew back his hand.

"Are you prepared for the kind of death you've earned, little man?" The man said to his nearly-dead enemy.

"No . . ." Baul muttered.

"Well, at least you were honest with me." He replied.

"Enough!" Another voice screamed, and a foot planted itself into Mundus's chest, and the possessed slayer dropped the white devil.

He grumbled and scowled, wiping dust off his chest as he regained stable footing fairly quickly.

"It seems tonight is nothing but a series of interruptions." The man said.

Modeus stood stall against him, still bleeding. He motioned with his hands then extended both arms, slamming his right fist into his open left palm.  
Flipping both hands open forward, he drew his right hand back and clenched both back into fists. Spectral runes swirled at his fists a crimson glow.

"Your corrupt bargain to control this world ends now." The man in black spoke, enraged.

'Vergil' laughed, "Oh! Is that a fact?"

"More than fact!" Baul screamed as he summoned his remaining sword, picking shards of metal from his face.

The two brothers looked at one another. It was the first time either one had fought with each other since the old days.  
Though unsure if the pairing would even work, there wasn't any room for questioning now, it was all or nothing.  
Survival was key here, Mundus had to be stopped at all costs. Whether or not they would succeed in their stand was an entirely different matter.

"Ah, twins reunited at last. It's more than I can say for Vergil." And the mad man grinned again.

Pain blinded Lady, and she could not move.

Patty stood helplessly as a bystander, and she watched as two men already half-dead mounted a suicidal charge on Dante, the man she looked to as a father.  
Why did it have to be this way? She still didn't know why he was suddenly the bad guy. Was it his lack of social skills? She couldn't understand what was happening.  
Mundus struck first, rushing the demon in black, snarling with the rage of a caged animal, and Modeus twisted, letting his instincts take over.

He brought his right hand forward and the devil king's blade bounced off of it, and he turned out away from the fight for his brother Baul.

The devil in white lifted upward with his broadsword and struck the devil's torso.

Mundus stepped backward dueled the white swordsman with a complex series of swings, steel on bloody steel colliding through the heavy rain.

Baul struck rightward and the devil king parried easily, sliding the blade off to the side and swerving downward with the force edge.

The swipe cut across Baul's forehead and he screamed as Modeus cut back in, flying overhead with a front-kick.  
Mundus simply stood and took it, and the man awkwardly shunted back. He landed and immediately defended with the rune shields.

Blocking first left, then using his right to block a jab, he just kept backtracking, blocking a myriad of fast strikes and blunt bashes.

He kept on the defensive, having to defend himself from a flurry of dark sword strokes that tore through the rain mercilessly.  
The dark apprentice recognized those moves, they were the same as Vergil's. So, the devil king had gained control of the slayer's muscle memory as well.

His movements were rigid and precise, but crushingly powerful. Modeus knew he couldn't keep this up.

Mundus struck downward repeatedly till the left-handed shield 'cracked,' but the other brother came to the defense. Baul rushed Mundus, driving his elbow into the man's side.  
The ploy worked, and he sent the dark lord careening off across the field. The man landed on his feet, digging his heels in as he was carried away.  
As he came to a stop, leaving skid marks in the mud, 'Vergil' looked at his abdomen, then slowly lifted his head back at them. Those silver eyes snapped viridescent.

The darker of the duo saw that his summoned defense splintered and faded.

So be it. He summoned his red blade and maintained his rightward shield, preparing for war as though he were the Dark Knight himself.

Baul huffed out a languid sigh, steadying himself as he fought the urge to fall down. He gripped his broadsword like a samurai's katana.

Time to fight fire with fire.

The devil came down on them hard and fast, bolting after them like no other beast. He broke past the sword and punched Baul in the gut with Ifrit.  
Flying back past him, Modeus barely had enough time to react as Mundus smirked thrashed Force Edge sideways, slamming into the mage's red brand.

Their time was like a fuse, burning fast. There's no stopping this now, he was Armageddon, and he was here.

The man in black almost left the ground as the attack knocked him backward.

Another round of ruthless strikes slashed into his flesh, he counted five in total, all symmetrical; two in each shoulder, another two in the knees, a one in his chest.

To finish it, the devil king launched his boot forward, sending the resilient man off his feet.

Baul, released from the crater in the cathedral's wall, rushed back around with a stinger of his own. Without so much as moving a muscle, the possessed slayer zipped backward.  
Water burst chaotically in all directions as Baul stopped just where his target had been standing, and then felt flames engulf him as Mundus unleashed a blazing fireball.

Flying overhead, the man in white landed atop another mausoleum, but he caught his fall and righted himself on the stone.

His brother staggered out into the yard, leaning against a headstone for support as he heard the devil king laugh.

"When will you learn to mind how you go?" The devil said.

"When you no longer walk the earth." Modeus grumbled.

And the devil rose Sparda's blade for the finishing blow. Raising his sword to meet the king, Modeus's broadsword clashed against the force edge.  
There was a moment of triumph when he withstood the devil's unending strength, but he soon began to falter as the steel overwhelmed him.

But Modeus was braced, feet planted wide apart, the line of his body perfect, and Mundus's attack barely moved him.

He swept aside his master's old sword, using the weight of the weapon against him, as Mundus's arm flailed uselessly for a blink of an eye.  
Modeus stepped forward and plunged his sword into the devil king's stomach. The possessed man roared, and he was left stunned for a moment . . .

With the steel in his gut, he coughed blood and his eyes were wide with pain and surprise as Modeus yanked the sword upward, bisecting his torso.

The weapon missed the king's head, slicing through the left of his collar bone. He fell away, shocked; however, just like before, his wounds started closing instantaneously.

But Baul was quick on the prowl, fighting with pure venom coursing through his veins. The man threw his blade into the barely healed flesh from across the battle field, venting all his frustration.

Modeus hacked his own sword at the Devil's side, cutting into his waist, but something physically stopped him.

'Vergil's' hand grasped the edge of the blade, midway through his hip bone.  
He continued to heal, his wounds closing around Baul's remaining blade.

Forcibly, the devil ripped out the weapon from his side and he bashed the handle of his sword into Modeus's nose.

The black swordsman spat blood into his opponent's face, but the devil continued, butting the hilt into Modeus's face once more.

The man fell straight on his back, unable to breath from his shattered nose.

He had no time to feel proud as Baul's fist smashed into Mundus's cheek, his other hand striking into the mad king's gut.  
With his gauntleted fist, 'Vergil' grabbed the man's white-clothed arm and set it ablaze. The water was earthly and so could do nothing to this hellfire.  
Grinning, the devil king kicked out the white devil's leg out from underneath him and then put a fire-laced roundhouse into his jaw.

He spun around like a wheel through the air, colliding with the only remaining tree that still stood.

Modeus remained grounded and felt metal fists grasp his jacket. Pulled off his feet, he saw Mundus's eyes staring at him through Vergil's face.  
The devil licked the blood off his face and smiled. So evil was he, the assurance of insanity to the masses. What would he do next?  
So, the man in his grasp fainted, seemingly falling unconscious from a lack of blood. Mundus was satisfied, the man must have realized it was pointless to go on.

A bullet ripped through his cheekbone, and he let go the sorcerer.

A parting gift from the vengeful Lady.

Almost immediately, the man regained his whereabouts and zig-zagged back, grabbing his sword off the ground, and then he darted in for the kill.  
He slashed his fiery brand outward, across the demon king's throat, which, when opened shot blood down the front of his clothes, staining it as red as the trench coat.

Mundus jerked backward, and the sword was torn from Modeus's grip.

Instead of trying to retrieve it, Modeus reached out and grabbed his brother's broadsword still stuck in the king's chest. Now it was 'Vergil's' turn, thrusting force edge into Modeus's side.

Blood seeped from his mouth as the man gripped the blade run through him.

"Give up you useless being, I am a god compared to you and your lowly brother."

" _Grah!_ You're a king of nothing, you'll always be cast out wherever you are." Modeus whispered dangerously.

They shared an intense stare, rage brimming from both of their faces, one strong and the other weakening by the second.

"I'll kill you." The man added as the blade in his side slipped further in an inch.

"Even- Even if that means killing Vergil?" Mundus spat the words, "This is still his body after all, I doubt Sparda chose you as a successor to kill his descendants."

Modeus's eyes widened, he was distracted for a moment.

Fire exploded across his back.

Mundus had twisted his sword and rammed it inward towards Modeus's abdomen.

His legs and arms still worked, so the sword had missed his spine, but the strike crippled him with pain.  
Snarling like a wounded creature, Modeus drove his right knee into his enemy's groin, but the devil remained solid, only his expression grew worse.  
He was even angrier now, the little worm was refusing to die.

Modeus muttered a latin invocation, and abruptly, splintered fragments of the tree trunks became animate, flying of their own volition towards the dark lord.

One pierced his Mundus right shoulder, and he let go of Sparda's sword. Then, the rest came, knocking him backward with no mercy.  
Eventually, he hit the grey brick wall that spanned the perimeter of the graveyard, the wood spikes stuck him there, forcing themselves through to the stone.

Grabbing his mentor's weapon, Modeus pulled the blade out of himself and threw it right at Mundus's chest.

The weapon stung him something even worse than the bullets, the blade's unique properties tied to the lingering will within.

That was when Baul released an arcane spell of his own, the flames of cremation. Forcibly holding up his left forearm with the other hand, he released from a runic gate a blast of blue inferno.  
He could go nowhere, so Mundus was forced to bear the brunt of the impact, somehow coordinated by the two siblings at odds. He held on, the rush almost overwhelming.  
The flames tore at every part of his being till nothing would remain, trying to break him down atom by atom. Out from the raging blast, the voice of a demonic shout bellowed out at them.

The massive roar filled the crumbling skies, screaming death rattle shakes at the devil king's two foes.

And when the fires were finished, the man who summoned them collapsed his posture, grateful he still stood.

The two let out exhausted sighs, wondering if they'd succeeded. They'd soon have their answer. From with in the smoke, a white glow appeared.  
Amorphous, it seemed expand and retract lightly. The matter swirled for just under four seconds in this mesmerizing pattern before it abruptly exploded outward.  
It was vicious and stinging, the solid wall of energy repelling them both far away from the festering devil, slightly charred by the tag-team effort.

The wood splinters turned to ash, as did anything surrounding him in the immediate vicinity.

Just before it could reach her, Patty managed to run away from the gate nearby, and she felt the wave push her off the ground as she just managed to escape the kill zone.

With the devil's inhabited body, he repaired himself once more, trudging towards his troublesome distractions.

"I'm done with you two," Mundus said. His eyes were pure green, the veins in his face pulsing a mile a minute.

He banished all his weapons and lifted off the ground, floating without wings. He opened his arms wide and began to chant something that neither could decipher, a curse in an old tongue.  
The brothers bth stood back up, game to push themselves even farther than they had before. As soon as they looked upon him, both were slammed back with a great, invisible brute force.  
Still neither one would give in, both scraping to get up on their feet.

The two stood close by one another, barely alive.

Patty circled around everything, running as fast as she could to reach the other side. She needed to get to Lady. Eventually, she managed to get there, racing behind the still-intact graves at the farside.

Lady was out cold, the last effort to stop Mundus causing her an insurmountable agony. So she laid there, dormant.  
The little girl tried to comfort Lady somehow, they needed to move. Patty had to get her to wake up. They can't stay.

"Come on, wake up! _Please_ wake up!" She whispered, "He'll kill us, we gotta go just please wake up!"

No response.

She didn't know how to do this.  
What could get her to wake up?  
They needed to leave five minutes ago.

. . .

Patty touched the woman's broken wrist.

Lady woke up screaming horribly, and opened her eyes, delirious.

" _God damn it_ _!_ " She yelled.

Mundus ceased his assault on the brothers at the sound of her scream. Ceasing his levitation, he grounded himself and approached.

"Ah, Mary. I didn't forget you, witch." He started walking toward them, to the detriment of Patty's calm.

He would take what was rightfully his, his promised slave. And he couldn't forget Patty, yes . . . Allen Lowell's seal.  
The man retuned himself and that disturbing smile returned. He marched onward towards his prize in all this mediocrity.

"And let's not forget about you, dear." He said addressing his former ward.

"No- No I . . . Stay back . . . please!" Patty cried.

She searched his eyes and tried to find the Dante she knew, anything as a last ditch effort to assure her she would not die here.

But there was none.

"Dante!?"

Suddenly, a sound ripped through the black red air, the sound of vengeance and power incarnate.

Mundus stopped dead in his tracks. A voice raged above them.

"So, there you are."

A blackened figure landed beside them, massive wings covering it's form till they parted to reveal their savior. Manah.

He saw Lady's wrist, and looked back at Mundus.

"Well, I see you've been busy, old friend."

The dark lord responded without wit.

"Ah yes, you. How great of you to join the festivities."

Manah held out his hand towards the fallen woman and a strange energy began to warp itself across the gap between them.  
Her wrist cracked back into place, resetting itself without pain somehow as it repaired the bone of it's own accord.

So two did the shrapnel within her leg, as the object forcibly lifted itself out of Lady's and the would closed on it's own.

The sword fragment hovered in air, and while the woman's wounds had been cured, the piece slung itself into the morning star's grasp.

It appeared to disappear inside of him, leaving behind a flash of emmers that fizzled out.

"You better get out of here, leave him to me." The horned devil said.

"He closed the gate!" Patty replied.

"Hmph," Manah flexed the fingers of his right hand and the doors unsealed themselves, "There we are. Run along."

"You dare meddle in my business?" Mundus asked.

He clenched Vergil's fingers tight, and Manah glared back at him. The devil king eyed the duo as they hesitantly began to walk toward the exit.

"You're damned right I dare!" Manah roared as he lunged mid-sentence, pouncing his enlarged claws.

The devil king grinned like the cheshire cat, and he met the beast with a front-flip kick, launching upward coated in a flaming drive that sent the beast reeling.  
His foe crashed into the hallowed stone of the church, while Mundus, landing on his feet, raced forward to his old rival and leaped off the ground, catching Manah mid-air with a vicious uppercut.  
The steel gauntlets returned in full force, and the winged devil flew further upward as he reached out and clawed the adjacent church spire, stopping his momentum.

He met the oncoming king with a purple discharge of arcane energy from his mouth, and the devil was overcome.

Falling fast, he rocketed into the ground, tearing apart the earth beneath him.

The beast landed atop the devil, his cloven hooves crushing Mundus further into the ground.

A red bolt of electricity struck the devil's body, and he released a mighty crimson explosion of energy.  
The detonation forced Manah upwards again, but not far. Quickly he came back down as the possessed slayer met him.  
Pushing off the ground, 'Vergil' led with his elbow and tackled the beast into the wall.

Weakened by exterior damage, it caved in and the two fell through into the church.

Mundus's arm was almost ripped out of it's socket as the morning star gripped his limb and turned him face down during the descent.  
Forcing the devil's face into the wood floor, Manah pressed backwards and forcibly tore at the man's left arm, ripping off the extremity altogether.

The devil raged, using his remaining arm to elbow his aggressor in the eye.

The beast let go and stumbled backward. The one-armed king leapt to his feet and turned with a punch, his right hook colliding against a church pew the beast had thrown.

Before his eyes, Manah saw the regrowth of the lost limb and the mystic repair of the clothing accompanying it.

" _Interesting . . ._ " The beast muttered.

Mundus let out a forced exhale and summoned force edge. He slashed across the beast's chest, and down to his stomach.  
In a blue light, he then vanished. The devil reappeared right behind the winged-one, sword charging down.

Abruptly, Manah turned, anticipating the arrival, and thrust his palms together. The blade stopped in his grasp.

"You dared to invade me," Manah spoke in a cold, murderous voice, "You violated the agreement, a mistake you will soon regret dearly."

"You should have known. In order to assure your authority, you must to take down other chess pieces to maintain it." Mundus barked, delightfully twisted.  
"I will take your power, and the power of others, all of the safeguards I will break, and I will move forward to rule both worlds. It can only be done by my hand."

Wincing, blood poured from between Manah's hands, and he pushed the sword away from him. There was a great shove and the dark lord nearly fell on one knee, but he kept balance.  
Striking forward with one rough hit, the beast ducked immediately, the top of his wings shearing off as the monstrous satyr swung his fist around and caught Mundus with a backhand.  
Sent rolling back through against the the rubble of the benches, the possessed slayer managed to roll on his feet and slid to a halt.

Manah's face showed it's true form and he breathed the great fire, burning all the wooden objects around them into ashes.

Most of the doors remained intact, as did a majority of the murals.

Mundus persevered through the fire and the flames.

"Come on, where is that indomitable strength!?" The demon king scorned.

Enraged, Manah held out his right hand, and the fragment of the blade he had earlier absorbed resurfaced, swirling dark energies into itself until it grew and reformed itself into a broadsword all it's own.

Summoning Yamato to aid the force edge, and the two charged one another, ferociously colliding in the center of the church.  
A shockwave burst from the blades, blowing out all windows and all doors. Those outside took cover as the shower of glass and wood splinters sped through the rain.  
Bits of stone came away from the walls as well, rolling outside as the force tore apart the building, leaving only stripped out remains.

After a moment, a vast explosion of dark blue light prisms accompanied a delayed funnel of wind.

Yamato's judgement cuts released a storm of hell, and the beast was carried off in a trail of destruction.  
Mundus smirked, Sparda's brat was good for something after all. Fate had preordained they would always succeed, so he decided not to challenge that notion.  
If you can't beat them, join them.

Leaping out after the sailing body, the dark lord arrived back outside in the cool rain.

Mundus took the moment to relax and he banished force edge. He always had admired the craftsmanship of the katana, and demonic steel was a perfect element to shape.  
Opening his left hand, he summoned an orb of indigo energy. Focusing hatred on the enemy, he clenched his fist closed, and all around them a storm of summoned swords rained down.  
Chaos unleashed itself, the remainder of any objects outside becoming flattened beneath the pure might of arcane force. Only the mausoleum maintained integrity.

Manah felt a million blades pierce his skin all at once, they ran through his very being like the dark teeth of the monsters that should not be.

The devil looked sardonically at his old wounded foe.

"Have you had enough yet?" He questioned.

Rain hammered the ground, an impenetrable salvo of bullets. Livid black clouds reared up like a cobra readying itself for the attack.  
They spat lightning mercilessly onto the pitiful scene below, which cut through the sky not unlike burning venom.  
Mundus enjoyed the chaos, he brought this marvelous gift to all his new subjects across the world, so to speak as the path was clear to rule.

Summoning the sheath for the blade, he rested the completed weapon comfortably against the ground like a cane between in both hands.

His eyes glistered green hostility, and a meteor of Ifrit's blessing crashed down from the sky on the poor creature before him.

Blackening the earth, the burst of hot ash and blistering rock was the end of all things. Winter it had sent, of all times now.

Once the fog clear, Mundus could no longer see Manah.

"So, you were all talk in the end." He chuckled.

The moment he finished that sentence, he felt a painful stab through his chest. Large claws rested on his shoulder as Baul's repaired sword stuck out his front.

"Not a chance," Manah whispered and slammed him down to the ground, "I'll take you down no matter what."

* * *

 **The darkness spread across the city, and in all the rioting slaughter, two women, scared and alone, made their way to Devil May Cry**

* * *

Lady grasped Patty's hand tightly, and they ran inside the building using the key Patty always took. This was the safest place for now.  
They found a bizarre motorbike sitting there, it's engines already rumbling. What was it? She instantly the moment she looked at it that Manah had left it there as their escape.  
It was silvery with goat horns near the handles and metal spikes around it's front with a purple headlight.

They had driven across the sloshing rivers of red water through to the wet gravel of the cleared roads and past the sounds of demon cousins and their wolfen brethren.

They reached the cozy office, but Lady knew she was still a target. In her mind, Patty was a liability, but it was because she too was somehow involved in Mundus's plan.

She had heard him say 'Allen Lowell's seal.' What did he mean?  
She knew she couldn't let her into his grasp anyway, she had to make sense of what was happening.

Patty was innocent anyway, she couldn't be stuck in the middle of this.

Lady stared at her, so motherly in the instinct to hug and reassure. Everything was going to be fine, wasn't it?

This worry wasn't lost on Patty.

"Are you okay?" She asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes, but-. . ." She didn't know how to tell her.

"What?"

"You need to hide."

"Is someone coming?" The little girl was ready to panic again.

"No, no everything's fine. You just . . . You should hide. It's not safe anywhere anymore. Lock the doors and hide as best you can."

She didn't understand.

"Where are we gonna hide?"

Lady looked down and then back at the little girl.

"I'm not going to hide with you."

"What!?" She was surprised, "Why not?"

"I have to go back."

"No!" She yelled, and the girl ran to the woman, begging her, almost on her knees, " _No!_ Stay here, please! Don't go back there."

"Stop," She said gently, pushing her hands off of her. The girl was growing hysterical.

"No! I won't stop, I can't let you die." A tear fell from her rosy cheek, "You can't leave, I don't want you to leave. Please stay?"

Lady knelt down to Patty's level and pulled her in, wrapping her arms around her.  
The embrace was so sweet, and without either realizing it, the jewel lit up and a calming aura surrounded both of them.

"Shh, shh, it's all right. It's all right." She told her.

She stroked the young girl's hair, and she melted into her arms, crying her eyes out, "H-He tried to kill us. Why did he try to kill us?"

"He's not in his right mind sweetie, he's-. . . He's just struggling with a lot of things right now."

She whimpered, "But all those things he said."

"He didn't mean them, of course he didn't mean them." She said, looking back the girl's tiny face, "We all have problems, but you have to hope in your heart we overcome them."

Patty stayed silent, striking a pensive look down at the ground.  
She felt weak, uncommonly so. Her head was pounding, but the feeling was recent.

It cleared itself just as quickly as she noticed it.

Lady resumed the embrace, and Patty hugged the scarred woman back. She held her tighter than anyone, the only person she ever held this tightly onto was Dante.

Minutes passed, but Lady knew she didn't have too much time to waste, she had to use Manah's gift and return to that battlefield.

"I can do this, run and hide. I'll be back for you, I promise." Lady said as she took the girl upstairs.

While their, she saw the weapon's cabinet. She wondered what was left inside it.  
Lady inspected the shelving unit and grabbed what she needed, the only other pistol inside, Ebony, and a shotgun that lacked anymore than the two buckshots with was loaded with.

Patty murmured a goodbye, and Lady stroked the child's cheek.

"Be safe. I promise, I'll come back with him."

Her legs were still shaking, but the woman managed to return to the bike. She wondered what this thing was called.  
Silently, Lady cried to herself as she knew the one she had grown to know was dead, at least in mind and soul.

Whoever that man was didn't deserve to bear the name Vergil.

Tears rolled down the woman's cheeks, and she revved up the cycle.

"Oh god." Lady sobbed, "I didn't realize how hard this would be. I'm realizing that it's been too late for a while now. I was such a jerk to you Vergil . . ."

She'd talk to anyone who would listen, but there was nothing by her.  
The door locked behind her and that was the signal to go.

She took a moment to wipe her tears, but still, she couldn't stop herself from crying. Thinking about what could have been if things were different and she wasn't stubborn.

"But you're gone . . . Not knowing there's someone here willing to be there for you."

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

 **Ho boy, that's this chapter.**

 **Well ain't this just a lovely time? Sorry for the absurd length of this chapter, but it's exceptionally stuffed with character, action, and plot developments. That don't fit all at once**.

* * *

 **Review Responses**

 **To guest - Well, this story is never going to be popular there. That's a stupid fact that's going to haunt me for a while.**  
 **I don't deny that this caused me to lose the will to keep going for a time, it _does_ hurt.**

 **But no, I'm not leaving this discontinued. This is like my baby. :)**

 **. . .**

 **To the other Guest, thank you for your defense.**  
 **And thank you too for informing me, but I already know that by the time of your review. It isn't like I'm making him some type of a romantic guy!**  
 **I mean he did abandon someone who has affectionate for him. I assume this is the point of your review? So, yes that's my answer.**

 **. . .**

 **J and Spicoli - I share your feelings. Eh, I'm letdown to be honest.**  
 **The game's story was a disappointment but I did have fun working for an S rank in hell and hell mode. Thank you so much you two, that's a huge compliment I do appreciate it.**

 **. . .**

 **3rd Guest, I'm glad you are enjoying it. I did love the atmosphere in the first game, I wish we've seen it more in the rest. much appreciated.**

 **. . .**

 **StableGenius TR - I think you just gave me the answer to why this didn't get more support.**  
 **Because it's an anti-DMC series, people prefer simple and typical stories with the game's style more than anything that tries to deconstruct the story and analyze it's characters psychologically.**

 **Overall, thank you. You got me at a loss for words lol**

 **. . .**

 **Turbo Sexaphonic - Gotcha :D**

 **. . .**

 **Most Recent Guest Review - *Whispers* "The Dudes are emerging . . ." Love the Tropic Thunder reference, that's so accurate and I didn't even plan that.**

 **Okay guys, that should do it, hope you enjoy yourselves**.


	26. Chapter 26 Dominion Day

**Chapter 26 ~ Dominion Day**

* * *

Mundus shrugged off the attack and swung Force Edge again, releasing a massive wave of royal hatred that left a trail of blood and ruin across the wet ground.  
Manah let himself fall off to the side and out of harm's way by a hair's width, once again aching for blood, hungry for more flesh to lacerate. This 'dark prince' would know damnation.

Within a blur, he stabbed Mundus through the chest, forcing the blade out through his back.

The king had not anticipated the horrid pain he would endure from such a weak and unremarkable set of arms.  
He stumbled back grunting, pushing Manah off of him as pain rumbled through his bones, and he roared in anger, the veins in his face pulsed, burning like a mad man.

To his fury, Manah laughed at his discomfort, "It hurts, _doesn't it?_ "

If there was something Mundus was known for, it was his pride. You don't cross that. He had to take revenge no matter what.

He took revenge on both Sparda's kin, and he would destroy this insufferable mongrel as well.

"You are refusing me? Why you measly scum." Mundus replied and he lunged forward, throwing out reckless strike after reckless strike, again and again, trading off Yamato and the Force Edge.  
Both blades worked together in rapid succession to drain all oxygen from the air around them, and soon Manah began to choke. The blades then cut him, leaving so many marks behind.  
But through it all, the beast stayed strong, his own rage broiling enough to snap back stinging slices in a sonic whirlwind that tore apart the structure of the molecules around them.

Eventually, the clash broke and the dark prince stumbled backward, parrying a stab to the side from the billygoat as he summoned a surge of more magical swords.  
The blades flowing their spectral bodies through the night into his foe of their own accord, the master was in full control now, and his blackened smile would send winter cross the land.

Still, the mad rival dashed in circles around them, avoiding the projectiles one by one. With every passing second, Mundus's rage grew stronger.

Spiraling through the air, Manah landed behind the dark prince, striking and spinning, painting the earth crimson even more each time he cut deep into the devil's flesh.

If it meant killing Vergil just to kill Mundus, then so be it.

He wasn't in this to care about the life of a thorn in his side.

Incensed, Mundus reverse-gripped Yamato in his hand and slammed Force Edge downward onto Manah's appropriated weapon, driving the opposing steel out of his way.  
This left the daemon wide open. The devil thrust forward with his backwards-held blade and executed a blood-filled rampage unlike any other. It sliced horizontal through his windpipe.  
With his throat opened to the world outside, the daemon clutched at his neck. His devil-enemy was sure he felt his blade connect inside Manah's flesh.

Seeing the fiend falter gave him great joy, a marvelous gift. But it didn't last for long, when the horned-man straightened himself up and caught his footing.  
Once again, the beast exhaled his great fire, enveloping the devil in a wild inferno. The flames scorched like the wrath of the sun, tearing away at the devil's flesh.

No remorse would be shown, no repent given. Those most wicked of the demons present would die tonight, and the state of the world would continue, undeterred by this demagogue.

Every ounce of hatred poured out of the man as he stung the dark prince viciously, and he continued to press on with his flames till they spat atomic rays through.

The next thing he knew, Mundus was at the ground convulsing.

He was staring impersonally at nothing, holding his charred body as he laid there, unaffected and undistracted.

A moment of silence dominated the place . . . nothing but the heavy rain disturbing the moment of peace that finally came to them after such a troublesome ordeal.  
For all those caught in the crossfire of this dark lord's tyranny, Manah had won vengeance. He stood proud, satisfied with the amount of pain he knew he had inflicted.

Sparda's former apprentices stood by the farthest side of the desecrated holy grounds, propped up against the brick wall at the perimeter. They were trying desperately to stay alive.

Focus was key.

"Modeus . . ." Baul called out to him, a gentler tone he hadn't heard in a long time.

Resting against the wall, the black demon saw his twin utilize his own broadsword like a crutch to walk toward him.  
The struggle was great, but it appeared to finally be done, still the brothers both knew enough not to relax yet.

"Remember what we used to say?" Baul asked.

Modeus heaved a painful sigh, "Y-Yes. We're so much older now . . . It seemed like yesterday."

Both men halted, taking in the pain.  
The man in black took a deep breath.

The two of them spoke in unison, - "Our fate is decided by our bond, united to stand or divided to fall."

"I will not let you or anyone else die," Baul whispered, "Not today."

"And _I_ will help you. We can stop the dying." Modeus said and the two helped each other to stand straight, "Let's go."

This was like a distant memory, something the two missed and it felt good to have again, even if it was for only a few short seconds.  
It seemed so inconsequential to them now, all the bickering and the wasted years of pride weighing their friendship down.  
Still, they would have much to discuss, this wasn't over, and history would not be so easily forgotten. Today was certainly . . . 'unique.'

"You're late. I've already finished!" Manah shouted at them.

Modeus felt his heart ache, the severity of this situation was still beyond their comprehension. If they took down Mundus, Vergil would die, and if they didn't? _Everyone was_ _doomed_.

He tried to think of anything that could help save the dark slayer's life, but he couldn't conjure the method.  
So many years of promise, now coming to an end. Sparda's bloodline would die out, or so they thought.

"I'm sorry, Sparda . . ." He whispered.

Baul nonchalantly prepared his remaining blade, ready to help impale the demon king for his crimes against humanity.  
Modeus simply couldn't bring himself to watch. There was no victory in this. He supposed that was all part of Mundus's plan anyway.

"Vergil." The white devil whispered and together with Manah prepared his weapon, "Rest in peace."

A disturbed smile creased across 'Vergil's' face, and in that moment, something ice-cold raptured into existence and Baul's blade created a loud metallic sound when it struck.  
Over Mundus hung a heavy black entity, a vast blanket of indeterminate shape that emerged from a rift and skirted around all that remained within this desolate place.  
The entity fashioned itself into something familiar, and the shadow became shaped into a hulking man - no . . . a gothic demon of old, with red eyes and the wings of a raven sprouted from it's back.

 _ **"Not if I can help it."**_ A deep voice echoed, as the large silhouette became a black-smoking figure standing before them.

When the shadow cleared out, almost like fog, there the demon stood.

"Ulmarag!" Modeus shouted, "You obey Mundus now?"

That same old demented smile appeared on it's depraved face. The Sandman had returned, and he was here to stay.

And he would not answer that question.

"My . . . look at the two of you, hanging on for dear life." It mocked them, "You wish to claim the king? You'll have to go through us first."

And like that, the cemetery was surrounded by starving wolves, each hungering for supernatural meat as much as a child would their first meal.  
Ravenous, they all growled at once; an ear-splitting symphony of decaying fur, and in front of the gates stood the purple man, the patron jester of yesteryear.

Arkham.

"You all never learned, ay? So big: so dumb." The clown chuckled.

So, the Sandman grinned at Baul, "Say your prayers now, little one. It's time to tuck you in."

Master of nightmares, blight of children the world over, Ulmarag had joined Mundus. Black feathers scattered themselves in the wind as it stood renewed.  
The metal of it's armor had become woven into the very flesh, and it's leather shielding had become less like armor and more like blackened sadomasochistic pleasure.  
If the other's had come to fight against the emperor of the dark, then the lord of horror was here to raise hell like they'd never seen.

Manah rested his flared wings close at his back. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"You dare to interfere in _my_ business? You will pay for this 'indiscretion,' pig. You may be the Sandman, but _I_ am the morning star."

Manah opened his wings and released a massive gust as Jester called forth a horde of 20 wulvers, Ulmarag raising his arm to combat the flurry.  
The daemon didn't give a shit about the wolves, he needed Mundus to die. All these other sudden players, they were just distractions. His score was with Mundus alone.

Right down between the clown and the Sandman, 'Vergil' stood again, lifting himself up as his wounds healed.

Modeus nearly teetered off his feet as Manah's winds stormed outward, but he kept his ground, and Baul kept him steady.  
He knew this would happen. You did too, didn't you? It couldn't end so easily, Mundus was a worm that would only continue to infest.  
Stopping him was tantamount to getting away with murder, it was simply impossible.

A black aura emerged from Ulmarag as it anticipated Manah's next move.

The daemon rushed forward and dove around him towards the demon king for a spinning fist; all of his anger, a fire burning brightly, erupted from his eyes and mouth.

Everything he touched turned to ash.

The prince of darkness moved his head left, staying still otherwise.  
Manah's right hand sailed past him and he struck a wolf in the face.  
Instantly, it vaporized.

He felt something pierce his right wing, and so he twisted midair out of reflex. Yamato ripped itself out of his appendage and the beast launched a stomp into Mundus's face.  
It felt as though he'd just kicked a freighter boat, as Mundus hadn't budged an inch while the daemon traveled backwards several feet, landing amidst a number of carnivores.

Ganging up on him, the wolves overran Manah till he was almost completely enveloped. He struggled till he could struggle no more, and then, he exploded.

A red light burned like a star, the creatures flew backward, instantly erased.

Lunging forward immediately, he brought his other fist against 'Vergil's' chin, but once more, the attack had no effect.  
The man simply stood still and took it like it were a human's strength. There was no change in him, and he retaliated in kind.

The devil thrust forward a flaming fist, Ifrit's metal bursting through the daemon's stomach, and Manah rocked backward, flying off across the field.

Repositioning his legs, the beast ground his feet back agains the ground, and he stopped himself. The flames of hell continued to burn through his eyes.  
A coiled punch met his face, his physical equal Ulmarag gave chase. The demon's fist pressed Manah's face in and knocked him further back off his feet.  
Gliding through the air chaotically, he continued till that same monster's hand took hold of his throat, it's fingers electrifying to the touch. His stamina drained itself into the brute's clutch.

He struggled to break free, bashing his fist into the demon's elbow joint, but it was in vain as he grew weaker and weaker.

And finally, Manah went completely limp, and the world around him darkened. Ulmarag tossed him aside like he was nothing, a simple piece of trash to be disposed of.

"All apologies, _mourning star._ It's all for your own good. You'll see. The world _need's_ a change. Sleep tight." He growled in the daemon's face.

* * *

 **And then there were only two, the battered twins who'd seen better days**

* * *

"Damn it. He's out." Baul grumbled aloud as he drooped forward, exhausted still. Their sounds were like _the outburst of wild defiant sorrow,_ like it's their nature to be forced into aggression.

So many wolves now . . . They would not end. No matter how hard they would fight, they simply kept coming.  
Sparda's forces were great, indeed there was a reason why they were chosen as the vanguard's of humanity.

Right alongside them, Jester appeared, dancing crooked steps toward them. "Welcome to hell, lamb-chop!" He shouted, raising his hands as a sign to the wolves, and he burst into laughter.

Gripping his red brand with renewed resolve, Modeus stood by his brother, "Well, this is the end."

All Sparda's corrupted armies bared down on them all at once, and the duo mounted what they knew would be their final stand. Still, Baul remained steadfast.

"But, it will be a _great_ ending." Baul said, resigned to their fate as well.

Insistent to nab their attention, the filthy beasts came together in the most unorganized assault possible. These poor creatures, all forced to do the bidding of a dark tyrant.  
Bolting forward with lightning speed, the two brothers clashed both blades with the flesh of their enemies, cleaving into the beasts they once called allies with a malice unforeseen.  
The great charge stormed through the hordes of tormented dogs, and the black red call of their darkest instincts spurned the both of them to spill blood.  
Violent explosions of scarlet flame revealed them for their true form, devil's most unholy in this blasphemous night. For each one they cut down, five more of them bounded forward.  
So, it was now a game of numbers, and the both of them allowed their rage to consume them for survival, primordial instincts took hold and fire began to fight fire.

Corroded blood sprayed itself through the rain, mixing with the soil. Torrents of sword strikes and demonic powers tore apart every single beast before them.

Baul lifted his arms up and slashed down as hard as he could, and a menacing wave of his own shook the earth, a sonic impact raging through the air through a trio of wolves.

Modeus rolled to his feet, looked around wildly for his brother, and saw ten or so beasts coming for him. Slamming forward, he hacked his way through each beast.  
A manic sense of hatred bled out of him in every slash, and every drop of blood spilled satisfied this primal drum beating in his chest, begging for more and more.

A hunger overcame his stomach. He must feed.

On the ninth beast, he stuck the blade through it's belly and chomped down on the beast's neck, tearing a hunk out of it's throat.

The thing howled something evil, but it grew still as blood left it's circulation, and so it eventually fell back on it's back, turning to dust.

Modeus could feel it, he was restored somewhat by the bite, and his health restored itself ever so slowly.  
A pileup commenced, the other wolves enraged by the manner of the loss, and soon the man was overtaken.

Baul slaughtered his way to the black demon and screamed, "Summon something!"

"I can't!" He yelled back and fell onto one knee.

An intimidating screech left Baul's throat as he charged onward, finally reaching his brother after so many kills. Drenched in blood, he hacked away, slicing off limbs and ripping through torsos.  
Modeus regained his focus beneath the evil menagerie, and in an unfamiliar rage, he bellowed aloud and forced out an explosion of his demonic energy, returning all those sieging to pure dust.  
Baul watched in amazement as wolven body parts flew at him and collapsed into dust before they struck him.

So it seemed Modeus possessed more than just the will of Sparda, he also held onto his rage.

The wolves, now either lost or roving for blood, were set upon to put an end to all their miserable existences.

Left to seethe, Modeus raged forward, determined to put an end to this mockery of his mentor's legacy.

Mundus stood tall as he seemed approached them, and with a solitary swipe, a pallid green energy plowed right through the distractions, leaving only his two targets.  
Good, this was between them. Modeus proved to be a rotten thorn stuck in his side. The temperature dropped instantly and a chill rushed down their spines.

Canine bodies lay everywhere, savaged and putrefying. Baul tried not to look at them, but it seemed that everywhere he looked his eyes fell upon them. His fists tightened.

All their deaths weighed heavily on him, these poor creatures didn't deserve this. Mundus had skewed the fate of earth when he had taken them for his own armies.

The ultimate slap in the face, and it was all thanks in part to their rivalry, _their_ oversight. They were loyal, they could depend on them in any time of need.  
If ever they sought moments of peace, the wolves were always the dependable ally that could ride with them, out in the free winds where no evil could roam.

Trapped in his train of thought, fog had gathered throughout the churchyard once more.

For a moment, Baul shielded his eyes, trying to stay close to his brother. If they could just keep themselves together . . . But promises were hard to keep.

The ground itself shook, and all the dogs had begun to howl. The air grew to smell of sulfur, and suddenly before him, a giant creature emerged from the mist. Balar has been summoned.  
It's mighty legs stepped over them, moving out and about towards the city. If there was a god or any kind of justice beneath the sky, it would act now and stop this darkness spreading.  
But he knew that wasn't going to happen. The giant grumbled aloud and wandered off, wielding it's large spear made of steel, off through the night to kill the humans that would oppose Mundus.  
Ice slowly covered the ground as it walked, frost a comfortable friend to the colossus.

"Damn it!" He screamed, "Why?"

Mundus appeared before him, Force Edge pointed at his throat, "Because this world is destined to eternal damnation. Sparda's boys made that a certainty."

"What?" The white devil exclaimed, "How were _they_ at fault!?"

The dark prince chuckled aloud.

"It was _their_ battle that brought about my return. As soon as that foolhardy boy came to me, _I knew._ It was a sign that my return was at hand."

At these words, Baul thrust his sword at the man's side, but Mundus batted the blade off using his own brand, then twisted his whole body around.  
Unable to defend himself, Baul felt the stinging touch of the Force Edge yet again as the dark lord brought it around full-circle, cutting vertically across his chest.

The man felt his second wave of stamina begin to fade, and he fell backwards.

"All through the years, in that world of darkness we call _'home,'_ I rotted with my hatred for that man, and lo and behold, his own kin now serves as my vessel.  
I knew I could not return once Dante destroyed Mallet Island, the only place in the human world that could withstand something as great as I am. So, I simply sought other means.  
Manah presented a wrinkle, as did you, but once again, the forces of good all prove themselves blindingly _stupid._ All it would've taken to stop me was for you to speak with them.  
Yet, you chose to kill without explanation, without vilification. And the boy and the woman became lovers, blinding both to the inevitable truth. Imagine accepting it."

Mundus strode forward towards his enemy, sword gripped tightly and his anger ready to be unleashed upon the world.

"And now, released from my prison, I shall bring about absolute destruction to these pitiful humans _he_ so loved. None will know mercy, none will know hope. _All of them_ will know despair."

And he kept striding towards Baul, content to end him this way as the exhausted vanguard laid on his back, drained.

But, Modeus wouldn't let this continue, he had promised himself. Affirming himself of his own resolve, the man in black charged forth, and he struck the devil's back.  
'Vergil,' without a sound, spun on his hells and bashed the hilt of his enemy's blade into the man's temple. Modeus staggered back, his blade still with him.

They dueled, Mundus battering strike after strike at the dazed man. He struck at the man's right side, but the dark swordsman blocked effectively, so he dragged the blade and went for the left.

Once more, the man blocked, pushing his blade over to meet the oncoming steel. Both blades clanged off one another, and the man sought his own counter, plunging his boot forward.

His heel pounded the devil's side, and he grunted as it forced him back a step.

The man in black launched a furious series of slashes, pushing the devil farther back as he sought to gain new ground.  
He fought fought harder than he had ever fought before, and the blades clashed through the downpour, sparking every time.

The devil was only humoring him.

Parrying three strikes outward, Mundus stabbed the tip of the blade into Modeus's gut and stepped around him, smashing Force Edge rightward into the man's back.

Thankfully, some of his bones managed to break the blow's momentum, and it prevented it from truly cutting all the way through him.  
Lodged, Mundus thrusted forward a right kick into the base of his spine. The man sailed through the air, landing more than twenty feet away.

Baul charged forward, blood dripping from his eyes. Muttering an invocation, he thrust forward his open palm, and a vortex of blue flames swelled through the rain.

Mundus was charred, and the smoke cleared quickly.  
His eyes opened, now beaming a frosty green light.

The demon in white sought an overhead strike for his followup, but the devil disappeared. His blade hit nothing, instead striking and splitting the ground.  
From behind him, the dark prince grabbed the back of his head and thrashed the man's face into the ground, crashing into the salted earth beneath them.  
Grinding him as far into the soil as he desired, the Devil summoned Ifrit's gauntlet and released a massive firestorm, the air combusting into vivid orange.

From within, Baul's screams reached no one.

When the assault ceased, Mundus pulled him out of the ground, and only the white of the swordsman's eyes showed.

His body was singed all over, demonic soot clinging to his colorless garments.

"No!" His brother screamed, launching another charge at the dark prince.

Renewed, the man in black unleashed thirteen strikes at the devil's flesh, tearing into him with as much hatred as he could. Each blow stung Mundus's pride.  
He curved around fenced off further attacks, intending to wait for an opening as he had prior, but Modeus never presented him with this gift, not this time.

The man in black swung hard and fast, expertly countering the devil's rebuttals with feline precision, slinking around a million stabs for a lunging skewer into Mundus's side.

His blade gouged out some of the man's ribs, and Modeus landed on his side, quickly rolling to his feet then removing his blade to block a decapitation attempt.

Redirecting the blade over his head to his other side, the man shoved his shoulder into the devil's chest, and succeeded in forcing him backwards yet again.

Rearing his sword, he focused and muttered a basic mantra that set the blade alight, and he thrusted both his hands downward as hard as he could. A wave of crimson fire overtook the devil.  
They burned high, and he could find no relief from the celestial rains he had brought upon the skies. Struggling to cope, 'Vergil' simply opted to suppress the pain, and he focused up his defense.

Defending against a series of five slashes, he employed the use of a steady samurai's dual-grasp, and in turn, he compensated for Modeus's increased speed by shifting as well.

The ground broke against the weight of his feet, and stones uprooted ricocheted around.  
They were pushed all around by a black aura that emerged from the devil king.  
It swirled through the night sky like a pyre without light, and he finally managed to pierce his enemy's wall of defense.

Lashing out at the man's gut, his sliced into Modeus with especial prejudice, tormenting him with thousands of gashes all across his body.

When he felt that he'd had enough, _then_ the devil stopped.

Modeus fell to his knees, grasping for air. He felt both his lungs were punctured and he was in even worse shape than he was before.  
Hands grasped both sides of his face and brought him down into the dark prince's knee. His nose shattered on impact.

The man's entire body shuddered and rocked backwards onto the ground, covering his face as his vision went dark.

Baul remained seemingly dead, and so Mundus paced around the man in black, circling the Force Edge in his hand.

" _'Virtue . . .'_ I tire of this circular fight, and your reasoning makes me sick. Now, later: it makes no difference. Either way, I'm going to _rip that woman apart._ " The dark prince said, licking his lips.

Modeus could only groan, his brain jostled by the beating. What was once clear to see had become rendered so violently extant. His failure would bring about destruction to all souls.  
Every single death was his fault, every single senseless loss of nature, the corruption of all things holy and sacrosanct, the desecration of even the most tranquil minds, all lay at his feet.  
He saw his brother laying there, broken. Modeus so very desperately sought to fix him, and here he laid, more than probably dead.

Seized by his throat, the man felt himself lifted off the burnt ground, and he soon came face to face with the monster he failed to halt.

"You don't deserve redemption. You were gifted with wondrous talents, and yet you wasted them fighting for that insect. I do not pity you, young one.  
I alone can bring salvation to this world, the blackened rage of the demons will not go unheeded. But for you, I will show you mercy. And in my mercy, I will bring disease."

There was a purity inside him, the purity of rage, two millennia of billowing hatred filling his every particle, his every atom. Everyone denied him, and now they would die.

Die so cruelly, die so painfully, so slowly, so vigorously, and so deservedly. Every living thing would pay for his exile, the price of it death to all living things.

And he brought Modeus's broken face close to him.

"In my mercy, I will tear the very sky itself down upon you. I will burn the oceans till nothing remains, and I will make all your suffering eternal.  
That is my promise, to you and all humans, the very end of all the misery across the universe. Creation bleeds for me, and I will make things right." The devil spat.

It was time to bring the darkness, and for all his bluster, the devil king was true to his word. He would break the cosmos upon a stone slab come the day.  
Streaking across every nightmare, he would destroy your very mind from the inside out, defile your institutions with his anthropic uncreation, and rape your soul of it's worth.  
If rage was an ocean, he was it's Poseidon, the unstoppable master of abortions and his crimson tidal wave of hate coming for your cities.

Nothing would stop him, not ever again.

"All living things will perish beneath my boot heel. Nothing will be spared, not anymore. _This_ is dominion day." Wrath flowed from Mundus's eyes.

And with that, the king drove his blade through the demon's chest, and split open the heart that beat within it.  
The steel broke apart his bones and sliced through the tendons round his spine.  
It ripped into him a vile masterpiece of death, a symphony for the new dark ages to come.

Blood spilled from Modeus's mouth, and his hands laid limply at his side. Life was ending now. He hung there in the air, despairing upon the bringer of evil's weapon, his own mentor's namesake.

There were so many factors to consider when one was dying. What had lead them there, why they had chosen such a path, but perennially, Modeus had already sorted thought it all.  
He'd had eons to think over all the mistakes he'd made, the time measured beyond human comprehension of how long he'd spent, it was simply a matter of mathematics.

Of time, he had too much, and now felt as good as any to die.

But still, he knew he could not leave yet, not without a final defiance.

Moving his hands up, he grasped the base of the blade, just above the hilt where Vergil's hand held on, and Modeus summoned one last ounce of magic.  
It was simple, a curse of blood he knew that would forever bind the blade from Mundus's corrosive touch. Those tired eyes flared as wide as they could, and he screamed.

" _ **Fanfaidh**_. . ." He began.

"- _ **Siad díbeartha**_ -"

He coughed.

 _"_. . . _**G** **o deo!**_ "

A bright rune of scarlet shade flashed around the man's hands, and it burned the creatures of the dark all through the graveyard.  
The bright call seared itself into Mundus's ears, and the red conjuration swirled around the handle of the blade, affecting a sting upon the devil's hands.

It was from a land the dark lord had no concept of, not of Spain or Rome, nor of the Middle East or Africa.

The pain grew in waves and steadily it eclipsed even the blackest pain he'd endured, driving away his caustic black control.  
And from his pain came a release, the simple human urge to drop the source of torture. From his hand left the power of Sparda.

It was not his to take, and so it returned to rest with it's master's true will.

"What?" The devil bellowed, "What power is this!?"

Modeus fell back for the last time, truly, and he closed his eyes. The man hit the earth so gently, it was as if he'd had no weight to his form.

The blade still lodged within him, it dug through the ground below him and remained there. Mundus, bewildered, grasped the hilt and felt once more an ungodly agony.  
What spell was this? That wretched man . . . It was not one Mundus knew, so it must be one foreign to all his great knowledge, a theological 'blindspot.'  
And the pain grew even worse each time he tried to take it from the cold man's corpse. The more he desired the blade's power, the more it rejected him.

"Damn it!" The devil said as he grasped it once more.

Managing to move it barely one centimeter out of the ground, smoke rose and the hilt ate at his flesh. He recoiled, hand clutched, the glove fusing to his skin.

"N-No!" He screamed, "Curse you, you- _Gah_!" Mundus was almost speechless.

In what was to be one of his greatest moments of victory, the devil had somehow been denied once more. He screamed to the heavens the worst sound imaginable, and the rains came harder.

And then, another blade broke through his ribs. Gasping, he turned to see who it was, and there laid Baul, clinging to existence.  
He had thrust his remaining broadsword through the man when he hadn't paid him attention, in essence, 'playing dead.'

"May you forever walk this earth a damned fool, if I cannot kill you where you stand today." Baul grumbled, pushed to his absolute breaking point, coughing and struggling for air.

His fallen brother would be avenged.

He laid there on his chest, using what was left of his strength to summon his weapon to his side and impale it forward on his most hated enemy.

The devil stood shocked, the weapon sending pain through his nervous system, the first he'd truly felt this entire conflict. His eyes lost their green glow, returning to their silver shade.

"You-! You worm!" He tried to shout, but blood was filling his left lung, muting him, "-I'll grind you to dust!"

Instantly, he summoned both his gauntlets and launched a fiery kick to the white demon's cheekbone.  
Sent hurtling eighty feet, the man landed unconscious once more. Ulmarag circled above and couldn't help but comment, "Lay there and die, heretic!"

Flying back down to bring aid to it's lord, the creature shielding a wing around the devil as he grasped his stomach.

"My lord, you are injured!"

"My power has been robbed from me. Thankless little _bitch!_ " Mundus raged, kicking the side of Modeus's leg, but the body remained in place.

His strength was lessened without the brand's special power.

"They have severed Force Edge from your grasp?" The Sandman said.

"You ineffective idiot, get off me!" Mundus said.

Anger overwhelmed him, and the king spitefully dug his elbow into the beast's side, then drove his knee into it's ailing face.  
It fell on it's side, bleeding from it's lower lip, shellshocked. Laying there, it looked at it's master for reason.

"I have lost that which would have assured my domination. Now I must make do with this weakened body and it's incomplete power." He exclaimed.

"What would you have me do, master?" The Sandman meekly replied.

Pale electric sparks gathered around the devil's clenched fists, and he looked prepared to kill his faithful minion.

A bullet struck the direct center of his forehead.

The demon king jerked and twisted wildly, the projectile phasing right through his brain, missing the stem by a mere single millimeter.  
His boiling devil arm's vanished, and he nearly collapsed completely, the strength of Ivory's ballistic shot almost enough to bring the crippled master down.

But he continued living, the most vital part of the brain surviving, and to a demon, memory isn't something stored only in the brain.

It was inherent to the being itself.

And so the devil stood tall once more, his head pounding with uncontrolled intensity, and he turned his twisted resentment towards his shooter.

"Who dares interfere?" Mundus growled, looking at the entrance.

Lady.

Through a separate wall came the demonic bike upon which she rode, and the smell of death lingered in it's fume trails, so many wolves torn apart.  
She stood, halfway dismounted and Dante's white gun smoking in her hands, a smirk actively drawing itself across her face as she returned to the fold.

"It's time to die." She glowered at him.

Beyond her target she saw glimpses of chaotic carnage, of more fallen wolves torn to pieces. And among them stood the figure she wished most not to see.

"Ah! My dear Mary, come back to join the dance of madness!?" Jester's irritating voice made blood boil within her, "We've been waiting for you-"

Without a word, she shot off another round and it demolished one of his waving hands, his left one.  
Backtracking, he grasped his afflicted limb and gaped his lizard-like mouth open at the hole left behind in his palm.

"Shut it!" She yelled.

Mundus moved to acquire her as she took aim again, but the man faltered and grasped the front of his head, "Curse that silver contraption!" He said.

Falling forward onto one knee, his fingers hugged his forehead closely.

In a blur, the lord of nightmares vanished into a shadow beneath itself, and the beast reappeared right behind her.  
She tensed up as it wrapped it's hand around her throat, placing the other hand's index finger at her temple.

" _Sleep._ Now!" It spoke into her ear, and she felt an overwhelming surge inside herself that faded her vision.

Falling over into the beast's clutch, it cradled her to bed as it mumbled a corrupt lullaby in her ears. But she would not go under. It tried it's best, but she wasn't asleep.

"Mm . . . You can't make me . . . You- You can't!" She said, remaining conscious somehow.

Forcing her eyes open, she crushed her right hand closed and dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. The pain was awful, but it did the trick, she stayed alert.  
How she was resisting this in the first place was beyond the other's, her devilish company desperately trying to force her consciousness asleep as best they could.

"Why isn't it working!?" Mundus yelled, still kneeling.

"I do not know." It replied, "The only way it could fail is if she was somehow immunized-" It stopped dead in it's train of thought.

"By what!?" The devil roared at him.

"By a lover's touch, _if_ that lover, of course, was preternatural . . . perhaps kingly?" the beast remarked cooly, "I smell both you and your puppet within her, were you not aware of this?"

The look on 'Vergil's' face shifted so fast it might as well have stayed enraged.  
It's spell could not fell her because she had become intimate with the only other person resistant to it.  
Mundus himself, indirectly.

"Of course I was, but I didn't know it would lead to this." He replied.

Lady began to stir as the call to sleep began to pass.

"She's waking up! _Do something!_ " Jester exclaimed.

The beast tried the same spell once more, but it had an even lesser effect the second time, and she grew stronger and more reactive.

"I will go down fighting, do you hear me?" Almost crying, she carried, "I will _not_ be broken!"

And she struggled more and more till finally she awoke fully from the daze, and she was in the Sandman's grasp, back in firm reality.  
The beast held her in place, and she screamed and battled it for freedom constantly, bashing her feet into it's legs, and finally, she managed to slip Ivory out into the open again.  
Directing the barrel right at the brute's foot, she pulled the trigger.

Instantly, Ulmarag recoiled and practically threw her away from it's hold.

Jester zoomed towards his daughter and propelled his scraggly, spindly hand forward to grasp her head, but the woman ducked. Pushing forward, she pointed the gun behind her and shot out his heel.

Three shots tore individual holes into the clown's heel.

Arkham fell forward and gripped his destroyed achilles tendon, and the woman bared down at his weakened master.  
Mundus rose to meet her, near fully recovered, and she drove her right heel forward into his chest.  
Her human body bounced right off of him. Despite the fact that his connection to the Force Edge had been severed, the devil remained quite strong.

Stronger than a human.

Mundus didn't even bother attacking her with a weapon, he simply closed his eyes and began to chant an eerie, unknown language.

He moved his hands about, tutting his fingers in precise movements.  
There was a soft, unmistakable sound of dirt moving.

Through the wet ground, they all heard wood splinter and break as their occupants began to escape their confinement.

"If none of my subjects will stop you, then I leave you to the damned." The dark prince said.

She spun around and saw the first one stumbling toward her, repeating her name again and again, an absent-minded puppet moving without threads.  
Turning again, she witnessed a dozen more of them crawling up from the mud, their faces all sickening her, missing various parts of their flesh.  
Skeletal fingers chomping at the bit towards her, clutching air as they staggered toward her, the ghouls were of a diverse state of decomposition.

Ulmarag flew forward to lead the charge, but the monster received a sonic slash across it's scarred chest from the master.

"No! You've done enough, disappointment." Mundus told it.

The beast grumbled to itself as it's wound healed and the dark lord returned to the Force Edge, attempting to undo Modeus's spell. Jester joined the effort.

They tried all kinds of methods in the hopes that they could break the curse on the brand, but to no avail. Jester grasped the hilt as well, but while it did not burn him, he simply could not move it.  
He couldn't even lift it a centimeter, and Mundus grew more enraged by the second. He had lost, or so it had seemed. Sparda's blade was key to his plan, and without it, he could not complete it.

Lady didn't have time for disbelief or dismay, not with a horde of undead bodies closing in, not when she realized that there were even more surrounding those closest to her.

They staggered out from the shadows, slack-jawed, sometimes missing a jaw completely, and demonized eyes festering disease at her.  
All of them turned slowly toward her, their gazes blank, emotionless beyond the desire to consume her so that they may live.

"Damn it!" She yelled.

There was no plan in play, she just moved, holstering Ivory and firing potshots with her regular artillery, her Draco, her Beretta, her grenades and even her bazooka.

With the path blocked in all directions, she leapt for the center of the graveyard, clambering over any headstones left.  
Her boots slipping against the rubble of some stones, but she managed to balance her weight and keep upright, shooting in one direction a missile.

Taking apart about five animated cadavers, she bought herself limited time, widening the circle and spreading shrapnel outward into others. Half the battle.

As the quicker ones came forward, screaming distraught cries at her, growling like feral animals and spitting up vile waste.

She relied upon her lighter-grade weapons, her trademark semi-automatics.

Lady cut loose and shot as many times as it took, emptying everything into her new dead-end friends. The circle got wider, but no less dense.

All their eyes glowed green just like the dark prince.  
His influence was vast, could she even hope to break it?

More came. She was ready.

Lady dove downward and rolled around a meddlesome tree, the lone one that still stood. Switching the Draco sub-machine gun to her left hand, she danced around the tree, using it as cover.  
Blitzing every damn corpse she could, the assault of her hellfire drove corpse after corpse backward onto the ground, either immobilized or left for dead. She marked the targets in her mind's eye.  
Slamming an encroaching runner headfirst into the tree, she fired off a headshot, and blood spattered the tree trunk, and next she crunched it's friend's head with the butt of her sub.  
The confused puppets continued to come for her, unintelligently throwing themselves to her bullets as if they thought they could truly outmaneuver her. Growing closer, their jaws clicked open.  
Bam! Bam!

The wails of the damned cursed her ears, and she never knew a human could even become capable of spitting such loathing.

They moved unlike any creature she'd seen before, arms either limp or bent and held crookedly up and off to the sides. Their legs dragged themselves across the stolid ground erratically.

Each one had skin that was colorless, grey and rotted. Some were 'younger,' appearing to have died in recent years, while others wore the remains of clothes from a different era, from the civil war.

She didn't think she'd be shooting zombies when she woke up this morning. Jesus, that seemed so long ago now. What the hell was Mundus capable of?  
A quick death . . . re-death . . . whatever it could be called, she could at least offer these tormented souls that much. Release from this un-life is better than using the Bayonets on her guns against them.

These poor people.

It was amazing she had even pushed herself this far. She had to thank Manah if any of them lived through this.

Though they were falling to her, the necessary evasions she had to undertake were taking there toll. Sweat poured out of her body, washed away by the rain but still there.  
She knew she had a fever despite the extreme temperatures. Her head was swirling, she was beginning to grow dizzy, and when the final one closest to her fell to her gun, she didn't even see it coming.  
Mundus intervened, sending out summoned swords in all directions, blasting through each corpse like they were made of tissue paper.

The devil appeared right in front of her, one foot off the ground as he stalked her every movement.

Grabbing the woman's hand, the king pulled the arm attached to it behind her back and held her restrained.

"There, all tired out, aren't we." He whispered in her ear sensuously, warm breath on her neck.

"What do you want from me?" She said, breathing in and out uncontrollably fast.

"Are all humans this dense? I wonder why I ask myself these rhetorical questions. It's obvious, can you not already see?" The man said, holding her close to himself.

He spun her around and saw the confusion in her face as he restrained both of her arms behind her back this time.  
She panted heavily, and every inch of her sought to break free from this monster, but he was simply too strong.

"Why won't you let me die? Are you trying to torture me for what Charlotte helped do to you? Just kill me already!" She told him, disgusted.

"Now, who ever told you I was trying to kill you?" The dark prince told her, "You are, without a doubt, the most physically capable woman on the planet.  
The thing's you've put yourself through to get here are astounding, you've survived endless torment, and you possess the necessary genes to cast powerful magic.  
Why would I want to kill you? You may be the only human I grudgingly respect. No, I don't want to kill you . . ." He said.

He embraced her, and she felt he was aroused.

"You love this form, I've already had the pleasure of your company once, why not again? You will carry the seed for my rebirth into this world, and then I can dispense with this body."

The revelation disgusted her. So she was part of his plan, now it made sense. Why was she allowed to live time and time again? It was so _he_ could have her.  
Lady gritted her teeth, and with all the power she could muster, flexed her muscles and tore from his crooked caress. She felt her leg gain the needed space and she bolted her knee upward.  
The blow to his groin made him grunt, and his hold loosened as she bashed his nose with her forehead at the same time.

Following with another headbutt, she drove her heel through his foot with a powerful stomp, and he finally let go, reeling away from her for a second.

With her arms free, she grasped Ivory and fired two rounds into the man's gut.  
He spat blood and tumbled over backwards, falling down on his elbows.  
Grabbing her missile launcher, she battered his legs with Kalina Ann's blade.

"Ah!" He screamed, his head rolling back, and his bloodshot eyes scanned his environment. His fists clenched the patches of grass beneath him.

" _This_ . . . is for Dante, you monster!" She screamed at him.

She twirled the weapon vertically a single time, and rammed the butt of the gun into his forehead, marring it with a crimson gash.  
Attempting to stand, he smacked her arms out to the side and rose up from the force alone, his eyes intent to harm.  
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he tried to yank her back beside him, but she drew Ivory once more, unloading another shot into his bicep.

He drew back and screamed at her, attacking with a fire-coated roundhouse kick, but the woman back-flipped, allowing her mother's namesake to sling around her shoulder in a circle.

The flames missed the base of Lady's back by a solid inch, and she immediately took a knife from her belt.

He came forward again attacking with superhuman speed with a fiery right-handed punch to her face, but she sidestepped to her left and moved past him.

Sticking the knife into his abdomen as she went, she dragged it across his side and created an open slit in him.  
Quickly, she then poked the dagger through his tricep and twisted. The blade was, naturally, consecrated.

The dark prince screamed at her, and he spun immediately with an opposite backhand, very nearly smacking her in the jaw, though she let herself backwards to the ground.

Spinning Kalina Ann around as she did, she pointed the barrel at the man's face as her back hit the smooth earth.  
It was all or nothing, and at this range, she was as good as dead too from the blast radius. Oh well. Click.

The missile discharged, and stared directly at it as the thing came forward and struck his face. The two were together consumed in the blast, and nothing else seemed to matter at that moment.

He felt the shrapnel pierce his lungs, his eyes, his throat, and the heat seared his lungs black, through his flesh depositing metal fragments viciously.

Through the smoke, he back away slowly, disfigured beyond recognition, still standing. He choked on clean oxygen around him, and he slipped back onto the ground.

Soon too the water washed away the smoke, and a crackling sound was left over.  
There, the bazooka had somehow held out as well, merely being scuffed along it's black sides.  
The integrity of the weapon was immense: superb craftsmanship.

The source of crackling soon became apparent, a red field of energy plumed out from the ground it seemed. It was covering her, protecting her.

It was like a second instinct, something innately triggered by the threat of death once again.

And she was safe.

. . . Relatively unharmed at the very least.

Her whole figure was held within this warm cocoon, protecting her from the cold water above and shielding her from the blast itself.

It was so surreal to have lived through that. She swore that she should've died, it was impossible not to.

But still she lived, the power of her ancestor flowing through her, still strong. And she saw the smoke trail up into the atmosphere.  
Coming to stand, she held onto her dependable knees and took a hard long breath in. Still panting, she looked at 'Vergil's' body.

"And _that_. . . was for Vergil."

The man seemed to tremble slightly, laying there still living but broken himself now. His face was smoking, itself a grim parody of what it once was.  
Then there was a noise. The noise that burst forth was like a cross between a snort and a drunken laugh and something bizarre, she couldn't at all describe.

His body began to shake, and soon, it was vibrating inhumanly, rupturing in place for minutes on end, till finally, it ceased to move.

The facial tissue quickly regenerated itself, far quicker than it would have normally as the man inside came to stand once more.

"No!" She yelled, and she aimed Ivory once more.

It was an effective tool, and Mundus would not make the mistake of underestimating it again. Summoning Yamato, he moved toward her in a blur, and the weapon was abruptly sliced in half.

Just before she was to fire, it came apart in her hands, sliced cleanly at the barrel where it met the trigger.  
She stared wide eyed at the development, and desperation filled her. She had tried so hard and got so far.

The man toppled her to the ground with a shove and the katana's point stabbed the ground right next to her neck, just barely slicing the surface of her skin.

Hunched over her the devil said, "I wonder what Vergil will feel if I raped you to death right in front of his eyes." His rime-laced voice was low, "But, I know there's a better way to torment you."

Strong hands swung her like a rag doll into the stone wall surrounding the churchyard, near the motorcycle she had taken.  
It stung and sent swells of pain through her body. A chin rested on her shoulder, whoever it was now breathing in her ear.

And her eyes saw that comically long nose.

"Come on, I was promised," Jester whispered in her, and she could feel his hands feeling it's way through her clothes ever so slowly. His tongue slithered excitedly.

Ulmarag came at them as well, but a figure in black blocked it's path. Manah had reawakened, and he plowed the creature back toward the wrecked cathedral.

"I don't think so!" The horned demon said.

Lady felt like a distortion of what she once was, unable to find her way back. She wanted to fight, but the human body could only take a person so far.  
The wind and the rain paraded against her bare skin, and the man that used to be her father ripped away her one of her remaining defenses, the Kalina Ann.

"You'll be perfect when I'm done with you. You'll be a good girl for daddy again, Mary."

"Y-You're not my father!" Tears ran down her cheeks, lost in the rain.

That was it, she made up her mind. Drawing Ebony, she fired it into the man's purple gut, and his eyes flared.

Those hands let go of her, and he stumbled back, looking down at his wound.

"Y-You . . ." He sputtered, and in that moment, he reverted to priestly guise, his true face.

Drawing out Dante's shotgun from beneath her poncho, she raised the barrel at his face and fired. A crimson flash unleashed itself as the weapon shouted it's rounds.  
The man rocketed off his feet, and the recoil nearly popped the shoulder gun out of her solitary hand. Mundus re-emerged, and tried to slice those weapons apart as well.

She shot Arkham again as he sailed midair, and his flailing body changed trajectory.

The man came down on his charging master, still alive as the dark prince fell on his chest briefly, enraged.

* * *

 **Elsewhere upon the battlefield, something else began to stir, deep within the dead man**

* * *

From within the hilt of Force Edge came a small sliver of light, a radiance that sparkled clearly through the darkness.  
It pulsed and pulsed, like a chime. Every few moments it returned, growing stronger and brighter with each passing second.

Slowly, the light grew in time, and it soon enveloped the pale swordsman's lifeless body, merging with it.

And soon, the body began to change shape, taking on a new form not it's own. The clothing shifted style and color, and soon, the being was becoming entirely different.

Then, it opened it's blue eyes.

* * *

 **Beneath a canopy of silver hair, the body came alive**

* * *

A massive pillar of light broke from the ground behind them all at the center of the vast graveyard, past all the wandering cadavers still animated and the scrounging wolves closing in.  
Past the dueling winged-brawlers Ulmarag and Manah, past the dark prince himself and before Lady's eyes, the ginormous light scattered across the sky, and familiar warmth swept the field.

Though it soon faded, from within this brilliant luminosity stood the shadow of a confident figure.

A great wind surged, greater than any conjured by the devil king, and greater than any torrential rains could stomach.

The figure within the pillar brought an end to the downpour.

It still drizzled lightly, but no air stirred the grass, nor the leaves.

Not a sound could be heard either close at hand or in the far off distance.

Where the pillar of daylight once stood there was an unexpected sight. Lady could see a man adorned in red, preserved in time. It was as though the man had never left for that island.

"D-Dante . . ."

Slowly the man turned to look at them and there was no doubt. It _is_ him.

"In the flesh." His voice echoed, and he seemed an unearthly shadow, slowly forming still into the physical world, the Force Edge still stuck through his chest.

He easily removed the blade, pulling it from his heart and tossing it vertically before catching it again by the hilt.  
The devil hunter snapped his fingers, and both halves of Ivory rattled and remerged together, the steel fusing itself again.

The pistol, once fused back into shape, flew to his right hand where it rested comfortably, pointed at the dark lord's chest as he got to his feet.

"Y-You!?" He said, Yamato in hand, then screaming "But how?"

The hunter merely smirked and cocked the pistol.

"You _can't_ be here, I destroyed you!" Mundus yelled, "I killed you with my bare hands!"

"Oh yeah, that still happened. But I got better." Dante replied, "You ready grandpa? Let's roll."

* * *

 **To be continued**

* * *

 **Thank you for reading :)**

 **Oh boy, did I have some trouble working through this one. I hope I'm not boring you guys and this still kept you at the edge of your seats.**

 **Thank you friendly anon, appreciate the encouragement. I'm sure you understand why this feels horrible, I will get over it.**

 **Thank you so much Hellyeah, It means alot to me. I'm glad that chapter caught your interest, The Sandman and his nightmarish ways are my favorites too.**

 **StableGenius TR, you are almost absolutely correct about your thoughts . . . this chapter gave the full answer.  
Abigail, at least in this story arc, is just a red herring. As you can tell, his true intention was to mate with Lady so that he could use their offspring as his new body.  
The best way for him to return is through Vergil and Lady's possible child.  
**

 **With their combined powers, it would create a being that no one could really stop, and he'd essentially take that and use it as his new body.  
Tried to convey it through dialogue there, not sure if that came across 100% or not, but there you go. ****Thank you sincerely, you spoke my mind.**

 **I'm doing okay now . . . I think. I'm trying to focus more on the passion and the enjoyment I get while I work through this.**

 **Thank you, Juju :)**

 **Well, Turbo Sexophonic, this is no way in hell easy to fix :)**

* * *

 **That's it, see you next chapter :)**


	27. Chapter 27 Dream Evil

**I'm back**

* * *

 **Chapter 27 ~ Dream Evil**

* * *

The devil stood slack-jawed, the red hunter before him standing tall and proud. It was as though he'd been ripped through time somehow, brought back by an inexplicable power.  
His blue eyes were so cold, morose and numb, they were the eyes of pure hatred staring him down, come to reap his soul and kill the vessel in which he colonized.  
Mundus, the prince of darkness, felt a tingling spread across the base of his spine and infect his arms and legs, a kind of paralytic sensation that froze his physical form.

"You dare crawl back from the depths of Gehenna to face me? I thought one death was enough." The Dark Lord bitterly spat at him.

Cool and collected, his enemy kept Ivory trained on his forehead.

"What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment, and besides, there's no more room in Hell. Ain't you ever seen Dawn Of The Dead?" Dante replied.

"If the dead are what you seek, I can take you closer to home!" Mundus said.

Those reanimated that still walked the earth turned their heads and lumbered on at the man, flailing their hoarse voices at him with strange calls and empty recollections.  
Stoic, the red hunter stood in place and let the heathens come to him before striking, firing effortlessly into the pack and blowing out their rotting brains one by one.

In the end, none remained, each slovenly corpse given it's final resting grounds by the man in red.  
He stood unmoved. There the horned beast flew back down to confront the master's nemesis.  
Ulmarag the war-giant came for the white-haired head like rapturous flames to a discordant fuel tank.

The Devil growled and sent his minions to deal with this new nuisance as he dealt with the persistent Manah, a renewed source of aggression come crushing down on his back.

The Sandman swept its claw so perfectly, leaving behind a trail of purple toxicity through the air for each finger, and it grazed his left shoulder.  
And Dante felt something stab him, a big black blade attached to an emptied bazooka. Lady's Kalina Ann. Turning, he saw Jester standing off by his daughter, staring him down.  
He'd taken the weapon from her and knocked the already-beaten maiden unconscious. That lit a fire inside him, and the devil hunter went off. Lifting one hand, he caught the beast's fist in his own.  
Ulmarag stopped instantly mid-air, as though all it's momentum had just hit a monumental brick wall. Slowly, the devil hunter turned his head back at the beast.

He shook it in disappointment, then lifted his pistol for a charged shot, blasting evil straight in the head.  
It rocked backwards, bellyflopping into a backflipped face-plant, bouncing off the ground clutching it's horrid face.

"Hey, I remember you, you're that priest-guy with the long speeches." Dante said as he returned to the crooked clown, "That show ended a while ago man, you sure you're at the right circus?"

A loose bone pierced the skin of his palm, driving itself forward and grinding through the skin, then propelling itself like a macabre slingshot, intent to impale Dante.  
It struck him, wedging itself in his abdomen. He clutched the bone-spur in his stomach and remarked this was a new trick, but the Sandman returned in full-force now.

It swung at the back of his chest and drove the bazooka further through his body.

The brute force of the beast's arm then swung downward, aiming for his head, but the hunter shifted forward. Avoiding the maneuver, he swung around his blade and gashed open it's throat.  
Rolling the weapon back in his hand, he plunged it into the twisted flesh of it's bound chest, then clenched to the right, ripping it out sidewards from the Sandman, then drove his boot through it's side.  
It fell away, feeling gutted as it began pulling on shadows to aid itself.

The turn had been so violent that Lady's firearm had been shook loose from him, but it still clung to his new body, catching on a few tendons.  
Through his whole body, a kind of energy surged towards the perforation and wired the entire thing shut, then sowed together his classic clothes.

Another of Jester's projectile's had pierced his upper back, and so he twisted himself back the other way, walking forward like an old soldier into fate-less battle.

Resting the blade on his back, mystically held there despite there being no sling on his back, he trudged on and ripped out the spike from his gut.

The clown launched another jagged-edged projectile but the man caught the bone inches from his face.  
Without any change in position or posture, his body blurred to the right, and another spike sailed on past him.  
One more came, and again he shifted to the left, the demonic harlequin firing again out of frustration.  
The ground rustled beneath the hunter, and suddenly his whole figure rushed forward, leaving behind a shockwave as he streaked across the battleground.  
Another spike cut his cheek but he did not stop, and with the clown's figure in sight, he drove the shank through its stomach with as much force as possible.

After all, one good turn deserves another.

It spat acid blood, but the man tilted his head off to the side before it could burn him, and the substance flew off behind him. The man seized Jester's neck with his free hand.

Then, he drove the spike he'd caught through Arkham's nose sideways.

The demonic clown screamed horribly as Dante pierced the appendage.

In retaliation, the clown grabbed the merc's throat.

"Time to dance again buddy." The devil hunter said as he grabbed the priest's hand and twisted it behind Jester's underweight body, it's joint's popping and cracking as he twisted.  
Ripping the spike out from his upper back, Dante thrust it downwards through the pale hand and into the clown's right leg, pinning it in place to the sound of the Jester's guttural singing.

The Kalina Ann finally dislodged itself and fell out of his back, but the hunter placed his foot beneath it and kicked up the weapon into his own hands.  
In one smooth motion, he twisted it vertically, slicing downward across the back of Jester's neck down through to his lower back. A puddle of blood formed beneath.

Instantly, the purple clown began prancing around madly, jumping from the pain, one of his hands utterly destroyed by Lady, the other impaled onto his ass.

He truly was dancing now as the hunter looked on with a smirk.

Lady came to, the knockout only temporary as she saw the man standing confidently before her, bazooka in-hand.

"Hey, babe." He said, impaling the bayonet through the soaked ground, "I missed this."

He picked up Ebony near her.

"I'm gonna have to take this back for a while," he commented.

"I-" She started, but there wasn't anytime, not here and not now.

The man ducked forward as a hulking figure tried to arm bar him, and the winged creature ground it's heels into the mud as it turned and swung back around with a coiled fist.  
It connected to the devil hunter's chest and sent the man off his feet, sailing in a tailspin. With one hand outstretched, he caught himself and flipped backwards, facing the Sandman once again.  
As he did so, the beast came for him once more, a bulbous monster of twisted flesh. A loud boom cracked through the air and shotgun shells exploded into the beast's back.

Lady stood behind it as it tumbled below and flipped about-face while the hunter twisted himself midair and landed relatively smooth.

They were facing each other now.

Time to face off.

Ulmarag saw fit to launch a dive-bomb punch, swooping around from the right side to get a good vantage on him. The man swung around his left hand and the two crashed their fists together.  
A burst of energy rung out as they collided their knuckles, and then came a knee towards Dante's gut as it tried to catch him off guard. The man flexed his shoulder and met the blow with an elbow.  
From this new position, Dante struck out with a right hook and caught the beast's ribcage, and a shockwave of red power cracked out through it's other side.  
He followed the punch with a soaring uppercut into Ulmarag's jaw, and blood flowed out from the sides of it's mouth as the center was compressed closed by his fist.

Catching his arm with both hands, it wrenched him around to the side and threw the hunter off to the side as it stumbled forward than launched a drastic blow laced with power.

Easily catching himself onto his feet, the man gracefully darted past the beast's arm as it unleashed a giant three-ringed shockwave behind his head.

Drawing both guns, Dante plucked his fingers and shot infinite bullets into it's stomach, charging it's basic cartridge to the point of maximum power.

It recoiled backwards in horrid pain, but it did not cease it's desire to kill, clawing at the hunter's face whenever it could but never reaching.  
And when he tired of this, the dark knight's son began to trick-shot at the beast's horned vision, shooting behind his back and sideways.

The beast felt multiple parts of it's flesh rip apart, torn asunder by so many shells at once it was hard for it believe the kind of pain it was truly under.

It was at this stage that Lady sought to enter the fight as well. Running close by, she shot out numerous bucks with the shotgun, blitzing the side and back of this unholy monster.  
Dante charged up one shot and pointed the barrel at the ghoul's open mouth, then he fired. The blast silenced it's horrible screams, and sent blood flowing forth behind it's head.  
Sheathing both guns, the hunter held out his left hand, with Dante propping his arm for Lady. She leapt up and her foot landed on his palm, so he sent her flying through the air.  
The beast's wrangled body flinched and it came forward with a blood-drenched fist, but it only met the hunter's open grasp as he moved in and clasped his arms around the backside of the beast.  
Beneath it's wings, and over it's neck, he gripped tightly and held it in place as Lady soared through the air, falling straight down down with the bayonet of her rocket launcher.

The weapon came down through the left side of it's collar bone and tore through to it's already damaged pectoral.

She flipped forward over it's wings and landed rather roughly, falling forward and stumbling quite a fair degree as Ulmarag instantly broke Dante's hold with a scream.  
Electric sparks raged around both of it's hands and then a giant wave of crimson energy exploding from the Sandman's body. Indeed it was strong, so strong it knocked back it's mortal foe.  
The devil hunter and Lady were forced back quite a fair margin, Dante maintaining his same balance while Lady was knocked fully off her balance. The Kalina Ann remained lodged.

Dirt rocketed up off the ground and spilled everywhere as Dante stood his ground and pushed past the raging energy.

Grabbing the protruding end of the bazooka, he wrenched it down and the Sandman widened it's eyes.  
Glaring down, it fired off a spectral beam of green plasma from it's left eye into his chest and the two parted ways.

Turning out of pain, the Sandman tried what it could to pry the machinery from it's chest. It struggled seemingly for an eternity, but Lady grabbed the shotgun once more.

She doubled back around and shot another round into it's chest, forcing the Kalina Ann further into it's broken form. It let out an inhuman wail, "Aaah-ah-Ourh!"

It grasped at the resilient weapon in vain, trying anything to just wrestle itself free. Dante followed that method with a vicious dropkick at the launcher's butt, digging it deeper into the hellish monster.

Once the creature lost its balance, it was ready to topple over, and Lady wasn't sure what to do next. It growled and thrashed violently, blindly.  
The Sandman slammed it's fists together and threw wild punches all around as unfocused nightmares grew to reality, and the world around them shifted.  
Lady was thrown forward far away, rolling on her back then out of control as she ended up on her stomach again . . .

"God damn it! You'll pay for that!" The beast screamed in agony disappearing behind smog slowly rising.

Soon they were engulfed in the swirling world of the demon's dark business, and figments of destructive imagination emerged, twisted out of their dreams.

A twisted version of Sparda rose from the ground made of black mist and it moved towards it's 'son' Dante. It thrust forward a pulsating red limb sprouting from it's shoulder.

The hunter grabbed Force Edge off his back and darted around the lancing limb, bashing the handle into the jewel on his 'father's' forehead.  
It shattered and the manifestation ceased as it broke apart into dust once more. More figments rose, made of dust and ensouled to his end.

He didn't honestly have time for this.

Dante's eyes glittered red as he chanted to himself, " **Dyr fra havene: kom frem . . .** " and he spoke a mental thanks to Modeus, his body preserving those same exorcist powers.

He placed one hand forward and a separated fog erupted outward from it. Creating a tall silhouette twenty-feet-high, in mere seconds a new demon appeared.  
It had almost a humanoid torso, and only the bottom half of a face, the top was covered with a dark blue crystal, a frozen flame made of basic carbon somehow.

It bore armor as well, itself a war giant of old also. Dante dropped his hands and it seemed as though the ginormous beast was about to bring the sea upon them within seconds.

The monster opened it's mouth and brought a tsunami-like wave, it crashed louder than the explosions in the quarry and the water washed down upon the cathedral.  
It was as thought the entire place was no more substantial than an architect's scale model abandoned on the sands of time, left to sink into the doomed surf.

Mundus and Manah broke from their conflict and saw the oncoming storm.

Overwhelmed with disbelief, the devil stated to himself flatly, "What's this."

Lady saw the approaching waters and closed her eyes, covering her head with her arms. But the force never came. She opened her eyes and saw Dante standing in front of her.

With his back turned, he held out his hand and forced the water to divide itself around them effortlessly. He turned his head back and smirked, "Music to my ears."

The waves were incredible, it was the extinguishing of a dream, of a way of life, easier than wet fingers on a candle flame.  
Ulmarag was suffering just to keep himself held together, he needed a way to restore himself somehow. The still-suffering Jester was washed away with the seismic floods.

And the flood swelled with the rains unto the blackened earth, filling the city ever so slowly.

The heathen then went to war with the Sandman, and the Jester was lost from this desecrated gravesite, burnt and torn cadavers spilling onto the streets.

The waters ran red with human, demon, and wolven blood still spilt by the forces of darkness, the hordes unleashed by the Devil carried on their way.

And when the brief oceans had cleared their existence, all that was left were the few remains of a burnt church and some tree stumps.

Mundus washed across the dirt, and he quickly stood up to find himself beyond the cemetery gates. Walking back inside, the dark lord stumbled upon his dry 'twin.'

And here they came to stand opposite one another. Dante was a cruel one, and Mundus would know.  
They stood in opposition of one another again for the second time now, a bizarrely twisted world.

"How much longer are you going to prove yourself a nuisance in my view?" The Devil spoke haggard.

"Bout the same amount of time you spend talking. Which, in my estimation, is gonna be . . . Ooh-" Dante looked to his wrist where that was no watch, "About forever and always."

'Vergil's' face twitched and he let out a giant roar as he charged forward. Dante didn't stop to think either.

He drew the fallen sword in his right hand and lunged off from his feet toward the demon king.

They came together in a violent clash. Force Edge flicked out and found the gap between Vergil's midsection, drawing an insignificant cut through clothes and across the skin.  
It was just a surface cut, but it was enough to make Mundus divert the flow of Vergil's judgment cut to parry Dante's brute force thrust aside. The blades clanged off one another.

Dante snarled, his face suddenly suffused with scarlet anger, making an old scar stand out white against his cheek.

Recoiled, they slammed their weapon's back again. The demon king felt the jolt of it in his shoulders and chest, and his arm went numb in a tingling wash of sensation, from fingertip to elbow.  
Slicing across a dramatic field, the Devil sprung his appropriated weapon as fast as he could, yet Dante matched him blow for blow, the singularity of the rivalry taking it's absolute toll.

Striking downward, the hunter merely met him with an upward swipe, and then a crushing strike in the opposite direction that loosened Mundus's hold.

Raw power flowed from their bodies and the darkness that flowed forth from the devil infected the bloody soil, and when their blades clashed again, a giant shockwave rung out.

Lady sat up and observed the fight wordlessly.

Dante was amazing even in death, and the way he swung his blade around so gracefully reminded her of old times again.  
How the world has changed . . . This world was wrong, changed by something, an indomitable will guiding the course of events skewered off-track somehow.

Slashing and colliding three times from side to side then up and down, Dante twisted around in a circle and guided his furious blade at the Yamato's edge, this time bringing an added friend.

He drew Ivory and fired off a solid slug into the Devil's shoulder, staggering Mundus backwards as he fired again and struck his brother's blade.

The katana flew off somewhere behind him.

Summoning swords, the ethereal blue erupted outward in a scourge, flying at Dante with such rage as to slaughter all humans, creating distance enough to at least breathe.  
The hunter dashed back and employed the use of his royal guard to cover himself, the blades striking an invisible shield of mania like rough glass as they contact with him.

The demon king claimed the Katana once more and struck with straight-forward slash. The hunter met the slayer's downward motion, holding the blade over his shoulder for momentum.

Sparks flew on this one, and the identical men parted striking different poses before they moved back into fluid motions.

Feeling a thrill at the contest, Dante adopted an overhand approach, trying to hit the top of Vergil's crown.

Mundus feinted with Yamato, letting the Force Edge cleave through open air as he planned his next attack, maneuvering his way around his enemy's offense to seek an opening.

Dante charged forward as reckless as ever, his brutish combat style accentuated by the Force Edge's raw power, and red foggy light erupted from his strikes with each precise movement.

Mundus gathered himself, playing the defense game till he saw his opportunity, then leapt into the air, pushing himself through the hunter's onslaught of ruthless slashes.  
Bringing Yamato diagonally at Dante's shoulder proved ill-advised. The metal clanged off the barrel of the crimson merc's pistol, and he subsequently felt a stabbing pain overcome his chest.  
Flying backwards off his feet, the prince of darkness felt lacerated across his entire front from Dante's upward slice.

He fell so silently, this beholden rage burning up his flesh, Mundus couldn't bare this any longer.

A metallic blue light emerged around them both as the dark prince sheathed Yamato within it's quiver once more.

Charging with cruel intention, the Devil released a massive field of cyan-colored destruction, raining luminous pillars at all angles cutting through the dimension itself like it were a fractured mirror.

The seismic gashes through reality broke through the fabric of space time and distorted Dante's perception as he found himself impaled and gutted through by the cosmic beams.

Mundus pushed back with all his might and succeeded on harming the insistent hunter.  
The devil screamed as he began to release massive bursts of purple spheres after his vessel's brother.  
Dante's ragged body sailed through the air almost majestically as he intuitively dodged.

With every attack missing, a bloodshot Mundus grew more and more frustrated, and he sought to close this newfound power gap somehow.  
His demonic powers flashed out of him, clothing changing as he triggered Vergil's inner demon and utter gruesome growls for the flesh of his fallen enemies.

Teaming with a strange vivaciousness, Dante only matched the man's strength, but remained human to do so.

Rocketing around, the hunter launched himself in too many directions too quickly and Mundus had lost track, making it difficult to land any fatal blow on him.

This bastard was stubborn and strong-willed, and Mundus expected no less from the son of his dreaded betrayer. In a blur, the silver-haired man's boot crunched into the dark prince's jaw.

Instantly, he felt air pass by and then his back hit the ground.

So much speed and power, Mundus didn't even see it coming.

His demonic visage fell away as soon as it appeared.

The melding of a soul as strong as Dante's turned even Modeus's weak body into an insufferable powerhouse, yet Mundus, whose vessel was his own general, had failed to become godly.  
If only he had the Qliphoth's fully grown fruit's once more, he could consume it's contents and regain what power he left behind in the demon realm. His fists clenched at the memory.  
How far he had fallen, how mighty he once was, now fading to become a dying god come into human flesh. The fragment's of what used to be were supposed to build his new empire, not burn him.

He stumbled back to his feet, Yamato shining. Judgment cut would end his doubt.

Dante predicted the shots easily, driving forward his blade the Force Edge as it became apparent that Mundus was too slow for him, another great disturbance.  
How much time had he wasted on this plan? How many grueling hours, days, months, years had he spent plotting this to the minute detail? Nothing was left to chance.

Mundus swung upward with his katana, slicing a fallen gargoyle in place of Dante, it's stone pieces falling unto the ground.

Every time he'd come close to overtaking his enemies, the ones he hated most, this dreaded lineage would always come back to haunt him. Sparda and his children.  
The anger that broiled away in the pit of his stomach wasn't even close to the wrath he could inflict if he could just still wield the Force Edge itself, now cursed from his grasp.  
If only there were some way he could turn the tables again, a manner through which he would in fact destroy this mongrel . . .

Once he turned, his face met with a gloved-fist, and his head rocked back. Dante bashed his father's handle against the dark prince's temple and knocked him around senseless.

The devil found it humiliating as the small of his back met with the devil hunter's knee, and he lurched forward onto his knees.  
Out of spite, he turned round slashed at Dante's knees, but the exorcist simply switched sides, disappearing in a blur from one place to the next.

Emerging right behind him Dante redrew Ivory and shot a bullet into his throat.

Choking, the dark prince grasped at the wound and fell on his left hand to prop himself up.

The rain continually poured and the thunderous winds howled evermore.

A bone spur flew through the air and struck Dante in his chest. The blue-eyed hunter looked up and saw Jester once more, beaten and sore but still capable.  
Arkham snapped his fingers and a gigantic ball slammed down from the sky, materialized through dust and human remains. A sickening face like his own adorned the giant object.  
Smiling crudely, the object pulsed and bulldozed forward, flattening both the master and the hunter like bowling pins in a desecrated alley.

'Vergil's' face flattened itself into the ground as the clown came to his side, the object buying perhaps a few seconds of relief from the looming Dante.

"Come master, we must fallback, they have the advantage!" He said, shifting back into his scarred priestly visage.

Mundus glared back up at him, his sclera turning black and his iris scorching themselves blood red.

Stepping back, Arkham felt fear drip down his back, and without warning the Devil attacked him, tearing apart at his body and consuming the meat of his sinful vehicle.  
Ifrit made it easy to rip away, and the consuming of his body transferred necessary power and nutrients. The insolence of an interventionist attack that also crushed him into the ground earned ire.  
Lady watched terrified, her father used for food as Mundus regained visible strength and turned his fury upon those that surrounded him, an insane look on his face.

Dante sliced through the ball cleanly, and it soon withered back into nothingness.  
He held a unique reaction to witnessing this cannibalistic feast.

"Jesus Christ!" Dante said, "Aren't you the hungry hippo."

The devil king merely roared at him, yelling obscenities in a dark language unknown to most.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya." The hunter said, "Ich Glocma to you too, pal."

And he launched immediately into a stinger, receiving a flurry of summoned swords and a forward slashing-dash attack towards his mid. The explosiveness of his foe's new energy was unforeseen.

They battled hard, and with the absorbed energy of Arkham, the dark lord now cleared a level of strength close to Dante's.  
A blinding display of rapid slashes and clashing blue and reds created a hellish temperature through the coldness of the night sky.

Still this devil couldn't hack the hunter to bits, falling at every step and wrangling lead feet to cooperate with his demands. Forsaken from his own power, Mundus was forced to make due.

There within the rain, their blades splashed water in waves and shook the ground beneath their weight.

And still it wasn't enough. Dante dodged backwards from an impaling jab, placing one hand on the ground and lifting up the rest of his body for a kick to the stomach.  
He placed all his weight behind it. Leaving the ground, Mundus bounced up and landed roughly, struggling to maintain any kind of semblance of superiority over his blinding anger,

The master struck left and was met with a crashing blow rightward that nearly ripped the blade from his hand, which was followed by a lightning-quick roundhouse to the face.

Spinning around off his feet, he fell on his knees again, Yamato serving as a crutch as he pushed off quickly to his feet, facing away from the hunter.

But, as he turned, Mundus was suddenly staring down the twin barrels of a very crude shotgun.

The gun shouted in his ears and spit fire at his chest. Staggering back, he clutched his chest as Lady broke the gun open, reloaded, and snapped it back shut.

"Vile creature!" Mundus bellowed, eyes cold he addressed Dante, "I will kill you again."

"Make my day." The man replied.

Lady unloaded again, this time missing as Mundus twisted himself out of the way, spinning on his heels.  
He came forward and tried to stab her through the gut, but a well-placed bullet from the side sent the blade past her side safely.

" _Grr- Damn you!_ " The dark prince yelled, strengthening his grip on the blade as Dante lifted his leg up and placed a timed heel-kick downwards into the side of 'Vergil's' face.

The Devil staggered off further to the side and away from Lady, whom Dante shoulder behind him.

"Stay back." He addressed his old friend, cool and collected.

Dante parried and deflected a two-strike fence from his enemy, stabbing Mundus in his upper abdomen, the pain stinging him deeply.  
The devil let out a beastly growl and batted away a series of followup sword swings from him, growing visibly more insane each time.

"So, I piss you off this much huh?" Dante laughed, his voice a bit hoarse. "It's like you were never possessed to begin with!"

Mundus regained his composure.

"Tell me, boy! Are you willing to live with the guilt of killing your brother?" Mundus growled. "There's no victory here."

Dante ran his hand back through his hair.

"Ah, but that's not why I'm here, old man!" He paced slowly towards the big-bad, "I'm just gonna kick your ass out. It's like a cleanse but you wake up in hell."

Mundus walked backward and felt himself touch another toppled gargoyle.

But the Sandman returned, bringing with itself the renewal of energy stolen from the summoned sea giant.  
Ulmarag was in much better shape than it had been, expressing an intact sense of vengeance and healed countenance."  
With the beast came a horde of wolves.

"I bring you the gift of pain." The Sandman said through gritted teeth.

"I bring you the gift of eviction." Dante replied.

Dante practically skated across the slippery mud to the nearest dog, bringing Force Edge around like a scythe as it's head soon rolled.  
With his weapon flashing reflective light, the man released forth chaotic crimson destruction. They were such elegant, wide swings.

Three of them, one after another.

A majority menagerie of wolves dropped like a bunch of dolls, spurting thick torrents of red blood that crystallized as it touched the ground.

He launched himself at the second group, driving the barbed point of his blade like an insect stinger into human flesh. There wasn't a single thing he didn't flatten.

He spun and cocked his sword back on his shoulder.

"Ha! Showtime." He chuckled, releasing his relaxed blade on an encroaching wulver, letting it dice like a propeller's blade.

It spun there for a few seconds, then he casually strode closer and came sailing forward across the ground bringing more chaos.

He cut his way through the forces of darkness till he reached that which he sought to destroy, the beast Ulmarag.

* * *

 **. . . The darkened place, life spinning away, flying away, floating and falling . . .**

* * *

Time passing. Darkness, and fragments of a thousand memories, circling the drain, balling into focus for a brief glimpse through a cracked lens.  
He was a child at the beach with his mother, the taste of salt on the cool wind. He was a cold and calculating teenager, in love for the first time with the idea of gaining power.

A strong devil lord he would make, becoming that which other demons feared as Mundus had forced him to become;

A new and renewed person, meeting Patty and forming an unlikely bond with her, a small girl of all people.

Meeting Lady and getting closer to her, growing feelings toward the insane mercenary, growing to enjoy her . . . perhaps a little too much.

Darker now. The day he was taken from this realm by force and not a soul was there to save him.

Darker still. The day Dante died and he was a lost boy again, all over Fortuna trying to reclaim his body.

A one-sided Lover he had used and betrayed, for his own personal gains. People who died, because he wanted to move forward with his plans inside Temen-ni-gru

Feelings of loneliness and abandonment eating him alive very slowly.

There was no doubt that his very soul was torn apart. Insanity.

"Forgive me . . ."

And he heard it, a muffled voice that seemed like a ray of light in the middle of this madness.

"I'm just gonna kick your ass out. It's like a cleanse but you wake up in hell."

Dante

Dante's voice

He couldn't hear anything again . . . Left to madness. Rotting.

What was real anymore? This shadowy realm in where he was none, no one, nobody at all, it destroyed his mind and brought him misery upon misery.  
His complete soul was crumbling, agonizingly slow.

"Just . . . Just let me die." He spoke coldly.

* * *

 **. . . Those things that should never be were now all that they beheld, and the truth held only lies for them all . . .**

* * *

An explosion of power and the flowing energy from within the Sandman, Ulmarag, leeched itself through Modeus's brand, now claimed by Mundus the dark king.  
And all that he'd given and all that Ulmarag had acquired soon became his own and merged into his power, the hand of darkness absorbing power not his own.  
It was a shame that the Sandman had let itself believe the master was still on it's side, as it too soon became a sacrifice to the master's desire for more power.

Though it still lived, it's wing's vanished, and from Vergil's body's back sprouted black wings of a raven, before a massive burst of crimson energy engulfed him, and soon he had triggered his devil.

The beast's power merged into the devil's body, it flew far away in the sky and made way for the city once more, seeking to reunite with the giant he'd summoned and end this war once and for all.

Silence dominated the area, yet he could see Dante's dead-serious face screaming.

"Get back here!" The devil's hunter boomed, "You haven't suffered enough."

He saw the demonic cycle nearby the entrance, the one used by Lady to return here, and he ran for it.

Dante jumped on the motorcycle, the hum of it's power emanating throughout it's powerful engine.  
Immortalized, the mercenary swung his leg over the pillion, and with a pane-shattering roar, the powerful machine zoomed to life, pushing him forward ahead to his goal.

He sped through the streets, yelling after the mad devil king for his blood, the one subject he was always serious over.

Now it was time to purge the darkness from the back of his borrowed mind, calling upon a spell of night so that he could see demonic trails.

The resurrected Cambion rode Cavaliere out to the bitter end of this war no man was safe from, intent to reclaim his brother.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

 **Hey everyone, I know it's been a while, but here it is.  
Definitely think you guys will enjoy this one, it was quite a bit of fun to write :)**

* * *

 **Alright, so you can probably tell that we're near the end of this story arc, very much a well earned wait, I think.  
** **Took long enough but we're here, this is kind of the penultimate battle, just before the big boss.**

 **Over all the experience on working through this entire plot arc through this second season's been incredibly challenging but in a good way. We've both grown as writers!**

 **To answer some guest questions, Trish is out for good. Definitely not going to see her again, I wanted an encapsulated story for her.  
Yes, Dante was planned as returning, whether it'll last or not . . . eh, just wait and see guys ;) it's all part of the fun.  
And ****to go along with that theory you mentioned StableGenius TR, here's a hint as far back as chapter 16, the quote by the old man:**

 **"They say it isn't even about where they died, nor even where they lived. It's much simpler than that. They simply stay near _what_ they loved."**

 **Dante's kinda been here since that chapter, ever since Vergil felt his presence and came to no injury when he fell from the sky, he's been lookin' out in spirit.  
Of course, there was also Mundus, he was the other passenger there since the very first chapter, but yeah, that's the whole point. Vergil's not alone in this.  
** **Modeus already had the will of Sparda, and since Dante weilded the Force Edge for so long, a part of his soul was more than likely retained within the blade.  
Vergil holding it would have strengthened this bond, so Dante emerged through Modeus back into the human world, or at least what's left of Dante.**

 **Mundus is my favorite character to have written so far, he's the perfect blend of creep and dark humor, I'm very happy about how he turned out.**

 **Thanks for reading, guys. Hope more people will come around to this too.**


	28. To Guest and FDR

Hello.

All further guest reviews will be moderated, any argumentative ones will be deleted. I will not tolerate any further reviews arguing with each other.  
Contrary to popular belief, I don't really need people to bicker about creative decisions for me, so both of you would be wise to stop.

FDR: your initial advice was sparked by a miscommunication, the friend I spoke of isn't going to add Vergil to Devil With A Cause. It's for a different story she's working on and will post down the road. At least your insults were creative, but no, I'm not the guest you're arguing with, I have better english than that.

Guest: You probably shouldn't have said anything to begin with, because A: I know, and B: you would have saved yourself an argument and some time. If you also left the review with the what if suggestion, thanks.

Both of you, maybe you have good intentions, but for my own peace of mind just crawl into a hole and don't write another review for this story again . . . You know, unless it's about the actual story. I'm not going to repeat myself, and I have little patience to underscore for you how much of a pain in the ass it is every time I get an email telling me one of you has posted a response to each other. Anyone else seeking to share opinions, you can do so in an inoffensive manner through a guest review only talking about the story itself or through your actual profile if you have the courage. I've put up with these arguments before, you're only the latest, so I'm telling you this for posterity's sake.

To everyone else, I'm working on chapter's 28, 29, & 30 as they will all be the finale to this current arc. Thank you.


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